Cosmic Castaway: The New Divide
by CazEvelyn
Summary: In this sequel to 'Rimmer's Return' and 'The Prophecy', the Dwarfers face their toughest adventure yet when they're caught in the middle of the hologram/simulant war. And sometimes, your most feared enemy can be lurking in your very midst...
1. These Games We Play

**Howdy peeps. It's Cazflibs in a new guise! That is, drawing inspiration from my crazy-ass muse that goes by the name of MaxEvelyn.  
**

**This is the fic that I know a lot of you have been waiting for - the sequel to 'Rimmer's Return' and 'The Prophecy'. Now, I kinda realised that a reader's enjoyment of this fic is highly dependent on information given in previous fics under my 'cazflibs' author name. Therefore, if there's any of you lovely lot who haven't read the Ace Chronicles or The Prophecy (or if indeed like me, you have a memory of a goldfish and want a quick reminder of everything that's happened to date) then please have a quick look at the CazEvelyn profile where a rather handy plot summary has been written out for you. Aren't I nice? ^_^**

**Lovingly dedicated to Andy, ****Butterfly Girl, ****DaydreamingwithInk, ****garfieldodie, ****hummingbird,**** ksunshine,****Lover-Fighter-Writer, ****PlainSimpleGarak,****RagingRambo, ****Suzie, twentyfourten,****Veronica and all the other wonderful people who have reviewed my work over the last few years. You make it totally and utterly worth it. And of course, to MaxEvelyn - without her plotbunny, this fic wouldn't exist. **

**Thank you.  
**

* * *

This has been a long time in the coming.

Tonga had been right. The holograms had grown too arrogant for their own good.

McGruder had been right. Simulants couldn't resist trying to kill the indestructible.

And then there was the prophecy, where simple words had woven predictions of such darkness and destruction. A prophecy in which the disparate species of this universe - holograms, simulants and the last human beings alive - would all play a part.

Yet what none of them had realised, was that events were already in motion. In fact, they had been in motion for the last ten years.

And soon - very soon - the top would stop spinning, the wheel would stop turning. Then like far-flung stars pulled into the eternal, destructive swirl of a black hole, those once arbitrary would be drawn together to face their destiny.

And things would never be the same again.

* * *

Having long forgotten its original mission after three million years, the JMC mining ship _Red Dwarf _glided majestically past the silent stars, unfazed by the dangerous yet beautiful depths of un-chartered deep space. Inside, however, the air was less than serene.

Holding court around the scanner table, the four remaining crewmembers sat in still, grave silence. The light matrix of the scanner readout bathed their faces with an eerie green glow as their tense gazes flitted between each other and the table as they assessed the situation.

Rimmer shook his head. "It's not looking good."

Kryten nodded his agreement, his neon blue eyes imploring to his human master. "It's certainly not advisable, sir," he echoed.

"Hey, hey!" Lister cut in tersely. "I know the stakes are high, but I say go for it." Shielding his playing cards, he drew forth his favourite Rasta Billy Skank CD, sliding the case across the table to join the various assortment of treasures in the centre with unreserved confidence. "I'm in."

He was met with mocking whistles and jeers from the rest of the group as they each masked smirks behind their playing cards. Unfazed, Lister took a cursory swig from his beer bottle.

"You see, unlike you guys I have faith in my skills," he chided, tapping a turmeric-stained finger to his temple. "It's all about thinking ahead. Playing the long game."

An un-amused eyebrow flicked above Rimmer's hand. "You mean you've marked the cards again?" he baited.

Lister didn't reply, an act even more unsettling than his usual bite-backs to Rimmer's insults. Instead, his expression remained unreadable as he replaced the beer bottle on the table. It was the same poker face Rimmer knew all-too-well he'd been putting on for the last six weeks - since the incident on the Blerion trading post.

Ever since they'd returned to _Red Dwarf_, Rimmer had sensed Lister's unease about what had happened. The premise that he'd once been Ace had been teasingly brief, but met with such fear and awkwardness that it could only raise further questions.

On several occasions, he'd tried to pry out more information from the man, only to be met with deliberate silence or, when pushed further, an uncharacteristic snapped response to drop the subject. So now it had become an unspoken point of contention. A giant white elephant in the room that nobody was allowed to talk about.

Even Lister's priorities seemed to have done a 180 turn. As little as two months ago, Rimmer was berating him for putting their lives at risk on a daily basis. They'd spent almost a year hailing potentially unfriendly GELF ships, braving wibbly-wobbly swirly things, and searching derelicts so ancient and unstable they threatened to disintegrate into a ship-quake if one of them so much as sneezed too loudly. All in the name of one quest - to find Kochanski.

Yet now, _Red Dwarf _was almost constantly on silent running. They avoided blips on the scanner scope like the plague. And so much as a fleeting mention of a nearby ship would send Lister sweating more profusely than a particularly adventurous vindaloo session.

However, despite the tension and wariness, it had been increasingly noticed over the last few weeks that supplies on the ship were dangerously low. It was critical. It was becoming a life or death situation.

_Red Dwarf_ was completely out of beer. Utterly devoid of cigarettes. And there wasn't a single, lonesome bottle of Tabasco sauce to be seen.

And so when the _SS Constantine _showed up on the scanners that morning, it had been a perfect time to re-stock. Not that Rimmer minded, despite his characteristic whinging and grumbling. After all, it was a perfect excuse to indulge in a little goody-reaping of his own - stocking up on hologrammatic upgrades.

The hologram suite onboard the _Constantine _had held a vast plethora of system upgrades - programmes that promised greater touch sensation and heightened taste abilities. And he made swift use of them all. Running the programmes and recalibrating his hard light remote belt, he aligned his projection signal with that of the suite system in order to accept each and every one of them. Synthetic as they were, they allowed him to take those tiny yet important steps closer towards making him feel human again.

Yet right at this moment in time, the only sensations he was getting were the strong wisps of cigarette smoke that curled from Lister's open mouth to assault his flared nostrils. And an increasingly grating headache that somehow refused to shift.

He wafted at the oncoming cloud, sending it to join the canopy of smoke that hung silently above them. "Do you mind, Lister?" he snapped irritably. "If you work your way through yet another pack of those cigarettes we're going to need a fog-horn in here to direct us to safe ground."

Lister rolled his eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, man," he sighed, patiently waiting for Kryten to unscrew the numerous fiddly bolts on his wrist. He was clearly going to throw his hand in - and he didn't mean his cards. "I'm just making up for lost time."

With the bets all in, the group took it in turn to lay down what they hoped to be the winning play.

Rimmer growled irritably. "Pair of fives," he huffed. He knew it wasn't going to be enough judging by the ill-concealed smirks from Lister and the Cat.

"Three of a kind for me, sirs," Kryten offered, his trio of jacks sitting together in a neat row.

Lister placed his hand down with a flourish. A collection of spades. "Oh yes!" he cried. "Guys, I think you'll find _that _to be a flush." He threw Kryten a cheeky Liverpudlian wink. "Shall I be having your goodies?"

"Hold up, monkey," the Cat snorted playfully. "Not unless you reckon that a measly flush can beat a full house!" He placed his collection of cards - three kings and two fives, the latter much to Rimmer's annoyance - on the scanner table before them. He flashed a toothy grin. "Read 'em and weep, fellas!"

There was a collective grown of disappointment from the trio. Lister muttered obscenities into his beer bottle.

Kryten eyed his detached hand mournfully before a sneaky tactic formulated itself in his CPU. "Without my full inventory compliment, I might be unable to complete tonight's laundry, sirs," he fretted. The mechanoid risked a glance at the Cat out the corner of his eye. "I'd hate for any zebra-patterned jackets or black-shimmered trousers not to be ready for tomorrow's wear," he ventured.

Lister grinned to himself as he stubbed out his cigarette. It was a bold move for a mechanoid. Kryten had clearly been living with humans for far too long if his programming was capable of replicating Bitch Mode.

"Nice try, Butterpat Head, but I know where you keep your stash of spare parts," the Cat countered with a flick of a perfectly-plucked eyebrow. "I shall be _wearing _that suit tomorrow."

Rimmer's nostrils flared as he watched the Cat scoop up his prized collection of Naploeon's memoirs with the rest of the junk assortment. He shot him a death stare that was sure to strike off one of his nine lives. If that stupid feline used the pages to line his litter tray, he'd flush out the rest of the ship's stock of tuna into space. "I swear blind I'm getting worse at this," he grumbled under his breath.

"Like you ever any good to start with," came a muttered reply.

"Smeg off, Lister," Rimmer bit back; although deep down, he was sure he was losing his touch tonight.

Despite the original reason for its inception - a promise of at least one drunken night of games and laughs each month - Rimmer took Poker Night incredibly seriously. After all, he was a conniving weasel of a man who simply hated losing. He'd meticulously read up on poker techniques whenever he thought the others wouldn't notice. He'd plan out strategies in his notebook, furiously scribbling them down in neat copperplate handwriting, as if he were orchestrating one of his Risk battles.

And of course, he was more than prepared to cheat.

Last month, a cleverly-concealed queen of hearts duplicate had been the key to securing his much-needed royal flush and winning Lister's guitar in the final round of the night. The Scouser had clearly had one too many tipples if he was bold enough to believe he could risk his prized instrument over a pair of threes.

When Rimmer had won it - much to the barely-concealed joy of the others - Lister had begged and _pleaded _for the chance to win it back. A long, slurred list of promises had spilled forth - no munching at poppadoms over Rimmer's shoulder whilst he was trying to revise; no plucking his nostril hairs with cooking tongs; no switching his Hammond Organ music CD for Rasta Billy Skank in _Starbug's _cockpit - but all to no avail.

The prize was won. Through a combination of wit, skill and downright deceptiveness, Rimmer was the uncontested poker champion of the universe. Not a huge accomplishment really, when the only arguable sentient life their universe had to offer was one remaining human, a dead man, an evolved feline and a mechanoid who had a fetish for cleaning toilets.

But tonight he felt _different_. Whether it be skill, mojo or straight-forward luck, something simply wasn't there anymore. _Something _was distinctly missing, having buggered off to places unknown and not bothering to leave a note.

Yet against his better judgement - and perhaps thanks to a drive far too instinctive to Arnold J. Rimmer to ignore - he felt an overwhelming urge to see Lister lose. He would dangle the prized carrot to see how high this dumpy onion of a man could jump.

"OK then, mi'laddo," he smiled a vulture's smile. "Then let's see how good _you _are." Rimmer regarded Lister through hooded eyes. "Just you and me on this one. Win this round and I'll give you back your guitar." He paused for dramatic effect. "If _I_ win, the guitar is flushed into outer space with the rest of this week's rubbish."

Lister blinked, surprised. "You serious, man?" he grinned.

"Completely."

Nodding enthusiastically, Lister rubbed his hands together with glee. "Deal."

With the wariness clear in his computer-blue eyes, Kryten dealt the cards once more. Unlikely as the premise seemed, both he and the Cat were rather keen on the hologram winning for once, especially if it resulted in the demise of that tortured, noise-polluting safety hazard.

Rimmer regarded Lister slyly over the top of his cards. It was strange to see him looking so animated and excited about something for the first time in weeks. Ever since _that _incident, he'd been acting incredibly strangely around him. He'd often catch Lister staring at him out of the corner of his eye when he thought he wouldn't notice - at the breakfast table, calibrating coordinates with the mainframe, revising on his bunk.

And when they _did _speak with one another on those rare, civil occasions, it was almost as if Lister was looking through him or past him. As if he were searching his eyes for something or _someone _else he couldn't quite make out, or was no longer there.

An ugly scowl crept across Rimmer's face. The little bastard _was _hiding something about him and Ace, he just knew it.

He watched as Lister slid three cards over to Kryten to change. Not an overly confident sign, he noted. His attentions turned back to his own hand - a pair of kings, a nine of hearts, and a three and a ten of clubs. He cursed inwardly. Not bad but not great.

The timeless dilemma reared its ugly head. Build upon the pair? Or try for the flush?

After some careful thought (and a little dabble in _Ippy Dippy_) he too abandoned three of his cards, leaving the kings in play. Kryten slid back three cards from the pile and he drew them up to join the royalty.

Oh bloody buggering hell.

A four of diamonds, a jack of spades, and an eight of hearts.

He glanced across at Lister. He wasn't showing any signs of smug celebration either. Perhaps his hand was just as useless.

Rimmer bit his lip and went for the plunge, laying down his cards. "Pair of kings," he stated matter-of-factly, praying to a God he didn't believe in that it would be enough to let him win.

Unfortunately, it seemed that God was attending to slightly more pressing business, as a cocky grin tobogganed across Lister's chipmunk cheeks. He threw down his cards in triumph. "There'll be another rendition of _Baby, I Want Your Love Thing_ tonight, guys. Two kings and an ace kicker!"

Rimmer stared in disbelief at the offending hand as Lister performed a seated victory dance before lighting up yet another cigarette. Indeed, the rival kings flanked a two of diamonds, a nine of clubs, and an ace of hearts.

The Cat groaned audibly, his head sinking in his hands. "The only way I'm gonna get any sleep tonight is if we're at least fifty decks apart," he sulked.

Yet Rimmer remained silent, staring hard at the ace that lay smugly in the middle of the action, as if it were mimicking its arrogant namesake.

"_Ace_ saves the day again," he sniped meaningfully, his voice hard but low. "I've got to wonder how you do it, Lister. Is it luck of the draw?" He stared at him unflinchingly. "Or perhaps there's some secret you're not telling me?"

A horribly awkward silence descended on the room; a dense fog that seemed to sink through the darkness, sitting heavy on their shoulders. Under Rimmer's accusatory glare, Lister's eyes flitted up to meet his through the swirling clouds of cigarette smoke. He said nothing.

Rimmer ground his teeth. "Thought so." He pushed back his chair and tossed the cards onto the table. "If you'd excuse me?"

Nobody watched him leave. They merely listened as echoed footsteps strode purposefully towards the corridor, the metal door sliding shut behind him with a resounding clang.

Lister's eyes sank closed. He couldn't do this forever.


	2. SS Occassus

The hologram combat vessel _SS Occassus _had descended into chaos. So much for a Saturday morning lie-in then.

It was the last thing that Captain Viktoras had been expecting. News that your best soldiers had suddenly turned insane and were embarking on a ship-wide killing spree wasn't the most welcome interruption to one's breakfast.

Now crouched with the remainder of his crew behind the barricade - hastily constructed from the metal chairs and tables of the Science Lab - he listened as a series of almighty _clangs _sounded from beyond the door, where the deranged were demanding entrance. Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed that his cornflakes were now becoming decidedly soggy.

"How the hell did this happen?" he barked to the young Lieutenant crouched to his right. To Viktoras, it was merely a straightforward enquiry (and rather polite he thought, considering the early hour and lack of caffeine). But judging by the Lieutenant's subsequent cowering and spittle-coated features, it was obvious that his tone was perhaps a tad intimidating.

Lieutenant Hayes swallowed, watching as Viktoras' square-set jaw tensed visibly. His untimely demise had been rather a frighteningly violent one - having met his end at a simulant war camp more dank and depressing than the _Butlins _at Skegness. But not even that nightmarish hell-hole could match the undiluted fear this man could instil in him with just a single look.

"I-I don't know, sir," he mumbled in apology. The pair ducked their heads as another harrowing pound at the door threatened to break through, forcing the group to brace their collective weight against the steel defence. "The science officers believe it's a holo-virus of some sort."

"Holo-virus?" Viktoras snapped. "I thought those bloody technical bods had reported only last week that the virus-scans were bang up to date?" He ground his teeth. "Why the hell didn't they follow correct protocol upon returning to the ship?"

"They did, sir," Hayes ventured awkwardly. "But the scans didn't seem to pick anything up." Fishing out an electronic notebook from his belt, he watched as the screen reeled with green neon text of the report, reading aloud as it scrolled.

"_Routine recon procedure of hologrammatic upgrades from derelict ship __**SS Constantine**__. _

_Combat soldier roster: - Boyle, Frost, Gallagher, Murray and Watling _

_**21:18**__–__ Following a successful mission, all combat solders returned to the Occassus, docking in Bay 47. _

_**21:27 **_**–**_Weaponry returned to Munitions Unit. Signed in by Officer Gillam._

_**21:46**__–__ Soldiers reconvened at the Lab for full debriefing to the Science Officers on duty. _

_**22:12 **__–__ Hot chocolate served with those little teensy marshmallow and chocolate sprinkles. _

_**22:37**__–__ Virus screening completed by Science Officer McCloud. All clear given._

_**22:58 **__– __Sign out."_

Glancing to their left, the pair regarded McCloud's lanky, be-spectacled form cowering with the Science Staff collective. The man clutched pathetically at a makeshift weapon fashioned from a fire extinguisher, as if it would form any semblance of defence against raging lunatics. Viktoras face darkened like a gathering storm. If these relaxation breathing exercises didn't kick in soon, McCloud risked exiting the _Occassus _through the nearest airlock.

"This morning their readouts were off the chart, sir," Hayes offered. "The virus seems to have heightened their sensory capacity and physical strength." He braced his weight against the barricade as another series of _clangs _sounded at the door.

As silence descended once more, he mopped his brow with the red-striped sleeve of his otherwise jet-black uniform and continued. "Their memory banks have been completely corrupted," he explained. "Some files have been deleted altogether whilst more negative drives seemed to have been enhanced beyond recognition. They don't seem to recognise anyone around them." Hayes swallowed a second time, his throat suddenly dry. "Didn't even blink when they killed them all - "

Viktoras ran a comb of fingers over his dark receding hair - cropped literally to an inch of its life - and allowed a low soothing growl to rumble forth from the depths of his chest. Enough chat.

"How many left?" he asked evenly.

"Of the original five?" Hayes ventured. A combination of air-lock flushes, incineration and light bee shut-downs had wiped out all but one. He hung his head in reverence. "Just Murray, sir."

Nodding thoughtfully, Viktoras drew forth his trusted pair of silver-plated Glock 17s. "Well then," he sighed. "I think it's time we put in a call to HR and furnish Murray with his permanent P45, don't you?" He loaded both guns with the ammo from his belt. "Now," he announced to the group. "Arm yourselves."

Hayes watched with open-mouthed disbelief. "B-but sir," he implored. "Technically he's still functional. If we could only just isolate the virus - "

He stopped short as Viktoras snared him roughly by the throat, eyes blazing with restrained fury. He could feel the cold chamber metal pressing against the soft skin of his neck, his lightbee recreating every shiver of sensation.

"You really think that _Murray_ - " Viktoras hissed the name with little compassion, "is going to show you _any _leniency when he bursts through this door, Lieutenant?" he demanded. Releasing his grip, he loaded the slides with an audible _click_. "I said 'arm yourself'."

Viktoras shook his head in disgust as the young Lieutenant fumbled to load his guns, the rest of the crew hastily following suit. Although he couldn't possibly have known it, his views on mercy were rather similar to how the last human alive regarded a salad garnish on a lamb kebab - pointless, unnecessary, and getting in the way of the fun meaty bits.

After all, he didn't get his stripes for going soft when the simulants decided to turn on their creators three million years ago. He knew full well those metallic monsters wouldn't have granted him the same mercy. Besides, it was the very reason they'd been created - so that humans could enjoy the entertaining bits of war without having to get their hands dirty.

Following the swift but bloody defeat of the simulant uprising, the human race learnt two valuable lessons. One - never build something that can rip your head off using only its little finger if you give it so much as the wrong look. Two - never build _thousands _of them. Otherwise, things tend to go a little tits up when said creations give two fingers to the human race and do what they hell they want.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that war has a habit of forging heroes, and Viktoras had done rather well out of the whole situation. Well, he'd died, but in 2475 that was hardly a drawback. Hard-light hologram technology had come on leaps and bounds since its invention almost 200 years previously, and having the dead walk amongst the living had long been forgotten as taboo.

Hence the inception of the _SS Occassus _– the 'ship of the fallen'. A combat vessel chock full of Earth's finest hologrammatic warriors, who had all proven their mettle and lost their lives in bygone wars. A ship that could power out into the depths of unchartered space, protecting the far-flung human race from the universe's ever-lurking dangers. And with the legendary Captain Viktoras at the helm, the ship would be unstoppable.

Or so everyone thought.

They hadn't even realised that a small collective of simulants had survived the war and fled Earth. They hadn't reckoned with the simulants' vengeful pursuit for revenge against the holograms that had slaughtered their kind. And they certainly hadn't considered that three million years later, they would set in motion their plan to settle the score.

The battles between the warring factions of hologram and simulant had been continuing for centuries now - their violent clashes spilling out into the paths of so many innocents in the cosmos. Yet for two of the most arrogant species in the multiverse, the time spent on their great war had merely been a drop in the ocean of eternity.

After all, immortal beings were fantastic at holding a grudge.

Which is why the simulants had been rather tickled by their latest creation. _Ferveo Silenti:_ 'the Rage of the Dead' - an intelligent virus that was undetectable by system scans. With the power to rewrite a hologram's memory programming, it could draw forth their most negative drives to unleash the resulting fury on those around them.

It was a virus that could be left to lie in wait on derelict ships scattered across the cosmos. A virus that could be lurking in any ship network - ready to slip into projections, unnoticed. When holograms sought out system upgrades on reconnaissance missions, perhaps...

Which is probably the most likely explanation as to how the crew of the _SS Occassus _had landed themselves in such a pickle.

The barricade had been broken; the once sturdy metal of its structure now cast back - twisted and deformed under the telekinetic will of the possessed - leaving the crew to stare back at their lost comrade.

The domineering figure now poised in the doorway echoed Murray's image, but certainly not his mind. Clothes now bled black and eyes as dead as night, he stared back at his old crewmates as though they were glass - looking through them rather than at them.

He opened his mouth to speak. But what spilled forth wasn't the once-hearty laugh that had been his trademark, but a corrupted voice with an edge of distorted feedback. Just like a simulant's.

"Gentlemen," he announced. "It's dying time."

Viktoras' face hardened as he raised his guns to his old colleague, hardly a flicker in his eye. The rest followed suit.

All was not lost. After all, the holograms had one last trick up their sleeves in the war on their dreaded enemy. And every simulant feared the day that they'd play that card.

With their finest soldiers lost to the darkness, there was only one hope left.

They needed to find Ace Rimmer.

* * *

The sound of the gunfire still ricocheted through Rimmer's mind as he jerked awake with a strangled yell - his long limbs tangled in the ocean grey of his ship-issue sleeping bag.

Panting heavily, he took a quick stock check of his surroundings. The strange, unfamiliar ship of his dreams had now dissolved to the comforting reassurance of _Red Dwarf's _sleeping quarters. The countless simulants that had once surrounded him - the dark eyes of their gun-barrels staring at him sightlessly - had now receded into shadow.

He swallowed, releasing the breath that had stuck fast in his throat. The dream had felt so damn _real,_ as if it had been based more on recollection than fantasy.

Rimmer's nostrils flared in annoyance. With his sleep littered with dreams of strange worlds and unfamiliar faces, he reasoned that his lightbee must be on the blink again. But what else could you expect from living on a trash-can of a ship where the mainframe wasn't even operational? He paused. Or perhaps that latter part was more a help than a hindrance.

His eyes flitted across to the red neon glare of the alarm clock. 3am. Ohhh _joy_. With his brain wired and chest pounding, there was no way on Io that the temptations of sleep would seduce him once more. Even if it happened to only be wearing a mini-skirt and peep-hole bra.

Sighing, Rimmer quietly gave the instruction to his light bee to furnish him with his usual blue navigation uniform and checked the top bunk. Untouched. Well, 'untouched' was probably the wrong word. The slimy caterpillar of Lister's unmade sleeping bag was littered with crumpled beer cans and poppadom shards. The only clue that it hadn't been slept in for the last few hours was the distinct lack of fresh curry stains.

Rimmer rolled his eyes. He was probably pining after Kochanski again – most likely accompanied with an alcohol bender that would make even Charlie Sheen look the picture of sobriety.

"Lights!" he called out to the empty room. The fluorescent bulbs of the sleeping quarters pulsed into action, chasing the shadows into the dank corners of the room.

A shocked breath caught in Rimmer's throat for a second time before sighing in relief. For the briefest of moments - in that strange realm between darkness and light - he swore blind he'd caught a glimpse of a strange figure in the reflection of the mirror above the sink, standing over his shoulder and watching him wordlessly. Of course, there was nothing there now.

Rimmer shuddered. Ever since they'd found themselves marooned in deep space, he'd always felt that the aching emptiness of the ship seemed to fill with voices and shadows after the lights went out at night. As if the crew had returned to haunt them - the guilt of the survivors.

He blinked unsteadily. Caffeine. He definitely needed caffeine.

* * *

Lister couldn't sleep.

The light matrix of the scanner readout bathed his face with an eerie green glow as he dealt out the cards once more, laying out the umpteenth game of Solitaire. The others had long since retired from their poker tournament, yet he was content to hold his own court - his bottled beer subjects lined up in a reverent row across the scanner table.

Things - he surmised academically - had gone to smeg.

Kris hadn't died. She'd left him. Upped roots and decided to seek her happiness elsewhere. A happy ending that didn't include him.

Yes, he'd been hurt at first. After all, he knew all-too-well that he was nothing like _her _Dave. Unlike his doppelganger's smooth charm and graces, his words had never managed to express the poetry his mind composed every time their eyes had crossed paths. Unfortunately in the case of this Dave Lister, the mind and the mouth had never been connected on a learned level, rendering his attempts to woo as eloquent as a Welsh farmer with a chronic catarrh problem.

But his chirpy optimism refused to let him sink, buoying him up with the promise that if he searched the cosmos long and hard enough, he'd find her. They'd be reunited once more and they'd both have a second chance at making it work. Hell, even the fortune teller back on that Blerion Trading Post had deemed it possible.

Of course, she'd also suggested that _something else_ would befall them once their paths crossed again. But he'd tried not to think about that too much lately. It was much more enjoyable to ponder a more important conundrum – 'which would be more fun to use in his private reunion celebration with Kris: whipped cream or honey…?'

Footsteps echoed from the corridor and Lister glanced up from his cards. An all-too-familiar shadow passed by the doorway and headed to the kitchenette next door.

Brow furrowed, he trailed the figure's path, pausing in the doorway as he clocked the tall lanky form hunched over the bench, fishing through the jars for a teabag.

"Rimmer," he blinked his surprise. "You're awake."

The hologram rolled his eyes wordlessly. A true contestant for _Mastermind_. Name: Dave Lister. Specialist subject: Stating the bleeding obvious.

"Couldn't sleep?" Lister ventured.

_Click_. The kettle rumbled into a boil.

Lister sighed quietly. Silence didn't usually bode well. Insults meant that Rimmer didn't want to speak to him. Silence meant that Rimmer _really _didn't want to speak to him. Ever optimistic, he ploughed on regardless.

"Nah, me neither," he conceded, as if to answer a silent retort.

Dipping his head, Lister regarded his shoelaces mournfully. When the pair were bickering, all felt right with the universe – as if this crazy cosmos comprehended the strange yin and yang of their relationship. But the incident on the Trading Post had moved the goalposts - his secret wedging an unbearable awkwardness between them.

He wanted more than anything to put an end to it; but gut instinct just knew that revealing the truth could make things a thousand times worse. Not only could it put them all at risk of exposure to the more hostile races of this universe, he knew full well how the hologram would react. Rimmer wouldn't see his secrecy as protective. All he'd see is a liar.

"Hey," he prodded verbally, olive branch extended. "Any chance I could get a black coffee?"

After a thoughtful pause, Rimmer's shoulders sagged with a groan, sounding his relent. "To counteract the effect of all that beer, I presume?" he sniffed, spooning in a heap of granules into a second mug.

Lister grinned but had the good grace to keep it to himself. "Something like that, yeah."

Meandering across to join him at the bench, Lister watched wordlessly as the hot water was poured out in the hologram's usual methodical fashion – the regimental inch gap to the brim – before adding milk to his own.

But then the familiar took a turn for the downright confusing when Rimmer reached for the pot of honey, carefully gathering a golden sticky mound onto a teaspoon.

"What're you doin?" Lister snorted, thoroughly bemused. Arnold J. Rimmer had always been a strictly 'milk, no sugar' man when it came to tea, and certainly not because he was 'already sweet enough'. After all, the idiom simply didn't fit with him. A bitter man with bitter tastes.

Rimmer huffed. "I'm dabbling in the art of alchemy," he replied flatly, although the sarcasm bubbled under the still surface. He dipped the now-golden spoon into the tea. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"No," Lister insisted, shrugging off the dig. "The honey, man. You never put honey in your tea." He folded his arms, tucking his fingers into the warmth of his armpits against the cold. The ship's metallic walls could really resonate the chill some nights. "You're always on my case when I put more than three sugars in _mine_."

"Lister don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, stirring the honeyed spoon through the milky brown until it melted into its depths. "I've always - "

He trailed off, the swirling pattern slowing thoughtfully as a flash whited out his mind's eye. For just that moment, he could picture – no, _remember_ – standing in the training hall back on Blerios 5, savouring the taste of honeyed spiced tea on his tongue…

The spoon clattered on the worktop. He swallowed.

"Rimmer?" ventured a voice beside him. "You okay?"

Desperate, his mind scrabbled for the lost threads of the image, but they skittered away into the darkness once more before he'd seized a chance to reclaim them.

In the awkward silence that followed, Rimmer unknowingly wetted his lips. "I think I need to speak with Kryten," he managed eventually.

"Okay," Lister replied carefully, his voice low and steady as not to disturb the ripples of thought. Without deflecting his open stare, he nodded in a loose gesture towards the doorway. "We can check out the cleaning cupboard on C-Deck. Probably our best bet on finding him."

Blinking unsteadily, Rimmer nodded his consent – no-one in the driving seat.

As the pair headed towards the Xpress Lift, Rimmer gave up the chase. He resigned himself to the premise that the memory would probably wiggle its way back out of the darkness eventually. Most likely at a rather inopportune moment during one of his frequent revision sessions. Or perhaps during a mental re-visitation of his rather _in_frequent sexual conquests.

Unfortunately, it wasn't a memory trying to get _out _of the dark, hidden recesses of his mind.

It was a previously unnoticed and highly dangerous virus trying to get _in_.


	3. Ghosts from the past

**Sorry it's been a few weeks since I last updated, folks. As some of you already know, I've recently found out that I'm hatching something else apart from this fic...!**

**Hope you enjoy the twists and turns to come. As always, your reviews are very much appreciated. Thank you.**

* * *

Kryten loved feeling needed.

It was the warm rush in his CPU that he secretly adored. How the whiz of compliance buzzed through every electron in his mechanical body when he was asked for assistance. It made him feel valued and accepted - a mechanoid living amongst the last precious remnants of humanity.

On the other hand, Kryten hated breaking bad news. He was truly awful at it. The mech knew that it had to involve some degree of fabrication in order to help the recipient deal with the blow. Yet despite years of practice at honing his dishonesty, he knew he still hadn't quite got the hang of it. His lies were about as convincing as Paul Daniels' toupee.

Hovering in the doorway to the Drive Room, Kryten watched as the lone man sat on watch by the scanner scope, booted feet slobbily slung on the dashboard. An oft-watched episode of _Mugs Murphy _played silently on the neighbouring screen as he munched happily from a foil dish, suggesting that his dedication to duty was less than diligent.

"Mr Lister, sir?" Kryten prodded verbally.

The snakes of hair whipped to one side as the man quickly turned to glance back over his shoulder, shooting the mechanoid a cheeky grin that warmed the cockles of his re-hydration unit. "Caught with me hand in the jar, eh Krytie?" Lister chirped playfully, before turning back to both the screen and his lunch. "Just thought I'd take a break."

Kryten fidgeted awkwardly as he glanced at the flickering glare of the scanner scope. It hadn't escaped his attention how he would often slip away from the daily system checks (a sad necessity with Holly still offline) to scope out the local area for lone ships and SOS signals. Still in search for her.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir," he shifted with the grating of gears. "But I was looking for Mr Rimmer."

Shovelling in another mouthful of vindaloo, Lister gestured with the fork. "He smegged off down the library declaring everything to be 'tickety-boo'," he explained between chews. "Probably to look up 'denial' in the dictionary." He swivelled back in the chair to face him. "Why? What was the beef with the holo-scan, Krytes?"

Kryten squirmed under the questioning stare. "Lie mode," he muttered, less than subtly. "Why, everything was hunky-dory, sir!" he announced in a tone far too chipper for the panic that flickered behind computer-blue eyes. "Absolutely peachy. In fact," he chuckled awkwardly, "I'd just been remarking to Bob how smoothly the whole process had gone. Huge relief all round."

The room fell silent.

"No offence, Kryten. But that's utter baloney, isn't it?"

Kryten winced visibly.

"Thought so."

"Lie mode cancel," he mumbled, his hands twitching as if they belonged to a marionette. "I'm sorry, sir. The results aren't peachy at all. In fact, they're quite the opposite."

The mechanoid was treated to a raised eyebrow. "Carroty?"

Ignoring - or perhaps not registering - the joke, Kryten continued. "The scan results revealed the beginnings of corruption and data loss in Mr Rimmer's memory files," he explained gravely.

Lister blinked in surprise, all humour lost. "You what?"

The mechanoid swore blind that the awkward grating of his CPU as it processed the dismay before him was more than audible. He drummed his cubed fingers on his chest plate, as if to mask the sound. "By all accounts, the holo-virus - "

"_Holo-virus?_" Lister echoed, incredulous. "Kryten, for the love of god don't tell me he's about to crack out the gingham again."

"Sir," Kryten cut in quickly, "I can only _assume _it's a holo-virus. There's no evidence of organic system failure whatsoever," he explained. "Virus scans are coming out clean, but it bears many of the hallmarks of the Armageddon Virus that the simulants inflicted on us years ago."

An involuntary shudder wormed its way down Lister's spine. He could remember, all too well, how the simulants had left them with a parting gift so dangerous that it had locked out their ship navigation and almost shut Kryten down permanently.

"Smeg - " he hissed. The laden fork sunk, unawares, to the foil tray as Lister took this in. After a moment's thought, he glanced up once more. "Can we fix it?"

"Last time, we simply had to perform a complete system restore," Kryten recalled. "But Mr Rimmer was operating on a soft-light, ship-powered projection back then. Now he's hard-light and powered remotely, I'm not sure how we would - "

Lister's brow furrowed as the mechanoid tailed off distracted, his neon blue eyes now studying something intently over his shoulder. Intrigued, he swivelled back to face the console, his gaze drawn to the small, pulsing blue light on the scanner scope as it zipped towards them at an impossible speed.

"What the smeg is that?" he muttered, his vindaloo now discarded on the console. "A ship?"

Kryten nodded vaguely as he continued to watch it. "It certainly looks that way, sir." His eyes flitted momentarily to the comm screen's readout. "But curiously enough, it's not registering on any scale - mass, velocity or molecular structure. All the readings are zero."

Lister shook his head. "But that's ridiculous," he dismissed. "How could there be a ship with no - "

He tailed off thoughtfully, gerbil cheeks slowly sinking in realisation. Wheeling back the chair, he leapt up and sprinted towards the Xpress Lift as fast as a full belly of curry would allow.

* * *

"Look, it's really not that difficult," Rimmer snapped with characteristic impatience. "I asked you for _Theories on Porous Circuits _and you bring me _Porous Circuit Theory_." Casting the unwanted book onto the desk beside him, he turned back to the skutter with a reproachful scowl. "Now go and fetch me the right edition so I can get on with my studies!"

Not noticing the rude gesture that Bob shot him with two of his metal claws, Rimmer turned back to his hand-written notes. He knew his bad mood was borne from the events of the night before. But surely he was perfectly justified to feel flustered that Lister had caught him in such a moment of weakness? The last thing he wanted, or indeed needed, from that dung-heap of a man was pity.

He absently gnawed his worry into the tip of his pen. The scan had been completed that morning, with Kryten reassuring him repeatedly that all would be peachy and the results with him as soon as possible. And his fears had indeed been sated. For an hour or so anyway.

But the snarky little voice that often liked to pipe up in moments of panic needled at him relentlessly, whispering reminders of the symptoms that had been plaguing him - the strange dreams and the irritating forgetfulness. All of the revision he'd completed that week seemed to have hitched a cab ride to the dark corners of his mind, where the know-how of long multiplication and the process of mitosis had long gone to wither and die many years before.

A familiar mechanical whistle snared his attention and he quickly set his hard face once more on Bob's approach. _Porous Circuit Theory _was carefully balanced in the skutter's clutch.

"Finally!" Rimmer cried, exasperated. "Now perhaps we can push on with this next subject?"

Yet before he even had the chance to reach out for the book, a blinding blue flash erupted in the space before them and he quickly shielded his eyes against the force of the glare. Once his eyes had adjusted to the strange glow, he lowered his hand to make out a swirl of blue lights as they danced enticingly.

"What the smeg is that?" he breathed, standing slowly as if not to disturb their performance.

With a strange mix of fear and surrender, he found his boots walking towards it of their own accord, as if he were a moth drawn to the flame. Bob looked on helplessly, buzzing his wordless warning through pulsing claws.

"Beautiful," Rimmer murmured, although he wasn't sure who to.

The countless illuminations surrounded him like fireflies, singing to him in a thousand voices. Its welcoming warmth and eerie light felt all-encompassing in their brilliance.

Only vaguely aware of what was happening, he turned back to the call of his name - Lister's look of shock framed in the doorway before he blipped out of existence.

* * *

Rimmer hated that bewildering sensation of being regenerated. The feeling was strangely akin to that horrible turn in your stomach as you took a steep dip on a rollercoaster. Frightening and exhilarating all in one simulated breath.

"What the - ?" he managed.

The room was disconcertingly familiar - the immaculate cream walls and red detail décor tugging at the loose threads of a half-buried memory. Yet the silken voice that carried on the air behind him helped to slot everything into place, as if it were the lubricant his mind had needed.

"Greetings, Mr Rimmer."

Swivelling back to the doorway, he steadied himself as his knees threatened to give way; his insides feeling as though they'd been ripped out like a filleted fish. The woman's red bouffant hair and petite curves were unmistakable.

"Nirvanah!" he squeaked, his voice two octaves higher than usual. He winced visibly at the sound, clearing his throat in a vain attempt to gain some semblance of control. "What are you doing here? I mean, how are you doing here? I mean, how are you?"

The Commander blinked twice at his verbal diarrhoea. "Fine, thank-you," she replied carefully. After a pause as painful as dental surgery - as though Rimmer had been genuinely pulling teeth with his conversation - Nirvanah nodded politely. "Long time no see," she offered, her expression unreadable.

An awkward chuckle spluttered and died on Rimmer's lips, thinking it best _not _to explain that his imagination had conjured her presence only the previous evening. As non-plussed by the situation as Nirvanah seemed, he was finding it a tad tricky to relax in the presence of a woman he'd previously 'Geronimo'd'.

Simulated heart thumping hard in his chest, he searched her face for some flicker of recognition at what had passed between them all those years ago. But the gaze she returned was steadfast and unwavering, as if nothing was registering behind her blue eyes.

"So," he faltered, desperately scrabbling for a safety hook in the conversation before finding a question that was both generic and pathetic in equal measure. "Been busy?"

Nirvanah flashed him a smile that proffered reassurance and pity all in one glance. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there isn't really time for small talk," she explained, her voice oddly clipped. "Your presence is required on the bridge - the Captain needs to speak with you urgently."

At Rimmer's perplexed expression, she sighed reluctantly. "We're hoping that you might share some information on someone," she whispered, as if she was more than aware that their conversation was being observed. "That is, if you know him?"

* * *

"_Know him?_" Rimmer spat._ "_He's a trigger-happy, arrogant git with an insatiable death wish and probably more in love with himself than the countless women he claims to have shagged his way through over the years."

Captain Platini blinked twice, glancing left then right to take in the equally stunned stares of astonishment from both Navarro and Pushkin. He rubbed a thoughtful finger under his eye, as if the venomous bile this man was spilling forth had somehow become projectile.

"So I take it you _do _know who Ace Rimmer is, then?" he confirmed slowly, regarding the vulture-like scowl before him.

"Yes, sir. I do know who Ace-smegging-Rimmer is," came the sighed reply. "And if I ever cross paths with him again it would be three million years too soon."

An awkward silence descended on the room. Platini offered a cough to match it.

"Actually, Mr Rimmer," the Captain ventured, trailing meekly behind the wake of the quiet, "as we are in urgent need of his assistance, we were rather hoping that you'd be able to ascertain his whereabouts for us."

"With respect, sir, I'm not his smegging PA," Rimmer folded his arms, eyebrow raised. "Just because he's an alternative version of me, doesn't mean I keep a carefully detailed diary of his movements and operations. I'm sure that even the _legendary _Ace," the word sprawled forth shamelessly, dripping with sarcasm, "is capable enough of keeping to his own agenda of smug gittery and poncing about."

Stifling a reproachful frown, Platini pushed on. "The last sighting of him in this sector was over 50 years ago," he explained. "Beyond intermittent accounts from intergalactic trading stations we've made contact with, we have nothing else to go on in order to locate him."

"The man has an ego the size of a planet," Rimmer scoffed. "I'm surprised he hasn't clogged up your long-range scanner scope by now."

Platini massaged his temples as if to instil some semblance of patience. "Mr Rimmer, I must admit that I'm having trouble understanding your venom for this man. After all, as you said yourself - you are the same person." He turned to Commander Pushkin who was sat to his right. "Natalina, I believe you've been doing some background reading on this Ace character?"

"Indeed, Captain," Pushkin murmured in her guttural Russian accent before consulting her notes. "A host of stories from GELFs across the cosmos, translated from both oral traditions and written texts, tell of an immortal man who is capable of single-handedly defeating the simulant race." She regarded Rimmer down her long, thin nose. "I believe he has all the necessary requirements for being classed as a textbook hero, yes?"

The edge of Rimmer's mouth twitched with the beginnings of a thin smile. A hallucination it may have been, but he couldn't help but savour how he'd wiped the smug look off another Russian know-it-all's face. He could still hear the satisfying blare of the horn as he shoved her into the path of an oncoming Jeep.

"Textbook," he echoed sarcastically under his breath.

"Indeed," Navarro nodded, making up for his lack of enthusiasm with a suave flick of the fringe from his eyes. "We couldn't hope for a better candidate for the job."

"But why do you want to find him so badly anyway?" Rimmer ventured, his lofty tone balancing precariously on the precipice of genuine interest. "Perhaps a helpless cat stuck up a tree? Or a dithery old lady that needs helping across the road?"

His mockery was met with a derisive eyebrow. "I'm afraid that's classified information, Mr Rimmer," Platini sniffed cockily. "I'm not at liberty to divulge the detail of his mission."

Rimmer's nostrils flared knowingly. "Right," he drawled, the acknowledgement slipping out slow and considered. Judging by this Captain's similarly flamboyant blonde locks, he wouldn't be overly shocked if Platini were secretly longing for some form of re-match of 'Spot the Submarine' with the absent Commander.

"Besides," Platini smiled, less-than-genuinely, as he pressed a buzzer on the intercom beside him, "I thought you weren't taking notes on his whereabouts?"

Rimmer bit back a scowl as the door hissed open behind him. Nirvanah stepped through the doorway to flick the trademark _Holoship _salute.

The Captain gestured warmly to the door. "Please," he nodded, "feel free to rest for the night and make use of the -" he suppressed a knowing grin as he cast his attention to Commander Crane for the briefest of moments before returning to Rimmer, " - _facilities_."

Clocking Nirvanah's open gaze, Rimmer's eyes immediately darted to the floor in embarrassment before drawing back to the trio once more. With his cheeks flushing red, he could offer nothing in return but a deliberate clear of the throat and his best salute before trailing after her like a lost puppy.

As the door closed behind them, Platini quickly tapped in some commands to the holo-screen set into the table. "Stocky? Did you scan for Mr Rimmer's light bee ident as instructed?"

The screen hummed into life. "Affirmative," it buzzed, voice monotone.

Releasing a pent-up sigh, Platini glanced over his shoulder to Navarro. "Hail the _SS Occassus_," he ordered.

With a solemn nod, Navarro set to work. Soon enough, the silence of the room was broken by an all-too-familiar voice, monosyllabic yet intimidating with its presence.

"You better have good news for me, Platini," it said simply.

The Captain jutted forth his jaw, as if to steady his nerves. "Of course, Viktoras," he confirmed, glancing down to the readout. "Stocky's established Mr Rimmer's light bee ident as 276-589-KZ."

Silence descended upon the room once more, presumably as the vast system of electronic records on the _Occassus _were pressed into swift conscription. Eventually the voice returned, its tone now etched with a distinct edge of satisfaction.

"Incarnation estimate: 12,762. Ten year's service. Jackpot."

Platini couldn't suppress the wolf-like grin that inched its way across his face as he regarded the door once more.

"I think we've got him," he confirmed with a slow nod, a chuckle not far behind it.


	4. Rimmer's Return: part one

**Thanks ever so much for the continued kind words and reviews on and elsewhere. Much appreciated.**

**_Plenty _to get through in this chapter so we better crack on. However, those who get the Douglas Adams reference get a free cookie.  
**

* * *

The soft pipe music drifted lazily from the speakers of the elevator, nonchalantly unaware of the awkward air that it was competing with. Four tight walls could barely contain the volume of unspoken words between them.

Whilst Nirvanah's petite form appeared to remain the very picture of silent stillness, Rimmer's body didn't seem to want to cooperate at all. His fingers buzzed - drumming out their nervous energy against his thigh, painfully aware that his right leg was desperate to bow to habit and jiggle impatiently.

Just as they'd always been, his mind and body remained at odds with one another. He just _knew _from her sideways piteous glances that she didn't return his affections. But something instinctive, almost engrained deep within, could sense the thick heat hanging potent in the air between them - as if a single spark could send the pair up in flames.

The metallic floor-panelling creaked under Rimmer's boots as he rocked back and forth on his heels. The sapphire sparkle of Nirvanah's eyes flitted across the walls, searching for a topic of conversation. She sucked in her lips before releasing them into a pout once more.

"We could - ?"

"Yes?"

Their words tripped and fell over one another, self-conscious yet eager in taking their first, shaky steps. Eyes locked together for the briefest of moments - charged and challenging - before Nirvanah looked away. Rimmer cursed inwardly as she drew back, annoyed with his impatience.

With a polite cough, Nirvanah gestured vaguely. "We could visit the Botanical Gardens, perhaps?" she offered. "We have a bloom of Venetian Orchid that's most rare."

A simple blink belied the blow. "Oh."

Nirvanah seemed to sense his disappointment, fumbling for an alternative. "Or the Observation Deck? We're currently researching new theories on faster-than-light travel." She nodded a little too enthusiastically.

Rimmer's heart sank as his eyes searched hers. The awkward pity seemed to radiate through her earnest gaze, dark lashes batting back his attempts to reach out to her. _Enough_, he told himself. She'd clearly made her decision.

"Sure," he replied emptily. Drifting back to rest against the lift wall, he held the floor with a mournful, sightless stare. "Whatever you feel is best."

Nirvanah's chest began to heave quicker, unnoticed, nervous fingers fumbling to check her immaculate coiffure. And then, like a dam giving way to the flood, she caved into his unspoken questions.

"I got your note," she blurted.

Hazel eyes darted up nervously. This time, Rimmer kept himself perfectly still - as if not to disturb the ripples of her thought. "Right," he said carefully.

Nirvanah chewed on her lip. No turning back now. "What you told me in that letter," she began, more than a little flustered. "That you - " she stopped, eying the surveillance camera warily before leaning forward to whisper the remainder of her question in his ear.

Rimmer's eyes sank closed at her hushed words, his breath seeming to catch on the painfully jagged edges of the memory. Feeling the heat of his sigh against her cheek, Nirvanah drew back slightly; just enough to snare his attention with her gaze.

"Do you still mean it?" Her words were barely a whisper.

_God_, he could smell her perfume now. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up wafting on their enticing waves - buoyed up like some bloody cartoon character. Either that, or be forced to hide a tent setting up camp in his trousers.

Rimmer swallowed nervously, his tongue unknowingly wetting his lips. And with a rush of courage he'd never known before, he found himself throwing himself head-first in at the deep end. "Yes."

A rush of emotions - raw and inexperienced - flooded through Nirvanah's face; a quiver of unshed tears that refused to flow under the warmth of an incurable grin. A rush that Rimmer felt just as strongly.

In the bright, harsh light of the elevator, everything felt naked and exposed. A powerful moment that uncovered the mutual sense of just how overwhelmed, elated and _afraid _of this new step into the unknown they both were. A silent vow that if they were to succumb to the flames, they'd burn together.

Nirvanah blinked quickly, clearing her throat with theatrical flair as her eyes returned fleetingly to the security camera. She recovered swiftly, flicking him an eyebrow like a mischievous imp. "Then if you're free, Mr Rimmer," she purred meaningfully. "Perhaps you'd like to retire to my quarters and have sex for a few hours?"

The same question posed but with completely different connotations. Years before, the offer had been polite, courteous and a little starched. Right now, the premise carried the pledge of so much more.

Nirvanah's red-stained lips parted slightly; her mouth hovering millimetres from his in an infuriating yet highly alluring non-kiss. It was an act that reeled him in and then teasingly denied him in one, fluid movement. Her simulated breath felt hot against the tip of his nose.

An idiotic grin crept across Rimmer's face as she pulled away. She may have shaved off a good few IQ points from him in that one charged, sexual moment, but sometimes the simplest answers were the best.

"Yes," he echoed.

* * *

"Poor Mr Rimmer." Kryten shook his head solemnly. "I fear he may be in great danger."

"Are you crazy?" The Cat demanded. "A cushy number back on that ship, getting laid three times a day?" The feline sulked into the creaking discomfort that was the pilot seat. "It's a family tub of banana yoghurt away from my idea of a good time."

The trio sat stationed in their usual positions in _Starbug's _cockpit, powering through the depths of space in hot pursuit of the _SS Enlightenment_. Only the navigation station remained conspicuously un-manned.

"But Mr Rimmer's virus, sir," the mechanoid implored. "If it's not seen to pronto, he risks further corruption of his memory files."

Lister scowled at the empty seat before wheeling his chair back round to face the dashboard readout. "If he doesn't bother to get in touch with us pronto, he risks extensive corruption of his groinal files."

"So you say those hologram dudes just took him?" The Cat flashed him a sideways glance before returning his concentration to his piloting once more. "Didn't even say howdy or leave a note?"

Lister shook his head. "Didn't even stop in for tea." He gripped the metal curve of the steering column a little too tightly. "Dunno why I was expecting anything different. They're stuck-up, arrogant smeggers," he observed. "They're the sort that would give you a snooty look if you used the wrong fork for the fish course, or used the butter knife to pick your teeth after the lamb."

The Cat shrugged loosely, the sequins on his regimental-styled shoulder pads winking in the neon lights of the cockpit. "So if these dudes are so great, why can't _they _fix Goalpost Head?"

Lister blinked his surprise. He hadn't considered that could have been the reason why they'd taken Rimmer without pomp or ceremony. "What do you reckon, Krytie?" he asked, glancing back to face the mechanoid. "You reckon they've got the smart-arse technology to sort him out?"

Kryten cocked his head to one side in agreement, the jerky gesture rather reminiscent of a marionette. "I suppose it's quite possible, sir," he granted. "After all, the _Enlightenment _is a research ship. It's most likely the best resource for hologram anti-viral software."

The Cat's instinctive reflexes reacted seamlessly as he navigated the _'Bug _through a tight maze of asteroids that eventually gave way to the depths of open space once more. The Plexi-glass filled with the purple swirl of a distant galaxy, its glow stretching to the vast emptiness that sprawled before them.

"Argh, what's the use?" The Cat protested with a yowl that echoed his feline predecessors. "Butterpat Head here reckons their ship can travel at half the speed of light. This heap of junk would struggle to keep up with a milk float with a gearbox problem."

Lister sighed his relent. "I say we leave them to it." He waved dismissively at the empty sea of stars that winked back at them. "Eventually they'll get bored of him and bring him back."

Suddenly the view screen erupted in a fierce burst of light, its energy resonating far enough to send tremors resonating through the _'Bug_. The edges of the glare faded gradually to reveal the outline of another craft materialising before them.

"Man, that was fast!" the Cat nodded, lips pursed impressed. "I've gotta admit, when it comes to boring people, the guy's a pro."

Lister's dark eyes flitted across the ship's semi-familiar form as it continued to pulse unsteadily, its edges still dancing with blue bolts of electricity. "It's not the _Englightenment_," he mused distantly. A spark of realisation set off the beginnings of a grin that threatened to conquer his face. "But I'll bet you one free guitar session that it's a familiar face."

Kryten's plastic features contorted in barely concealed disdain. Another pained rendition of _To Ganymede and Titan _was bound to damage his audio receptors beyond repair. "Are you sure, sir?" he ventured.

Booting up the waiting comms message from the stricken craft, the Scouser's head rested back smugly against the co-pilot seat as the cockpit suddenly filled with the nasal tones of a very familiar voice.

"Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger!"

Lister closed the link once more. "Fairly sure." He turned back to the mechanoid, eyebrow raised. "I'm happy to take requests, by the way."

* * *

Rimmer had worked his way through an impressive vocabulary of cursing before the cockpit door slid open behind him. He quickly flicked off the comms link that he'd accidentally booted in his panic to regain control of the squealing craft.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Swivelling back to the doorway, he watched as the woman before him swept back fiery locks from her face in disbelief to survey the chaos within.

"Evening!" he chirped in reply.

The woman growled audibly as she leapt into the co-pilot chair and began flicking a line of switches to try and soothe the frazzled engines. She could tell immediately from the readouts what the rookie mistake had been.

"Are you crazy?" she cried. "I've told you thousands of times, _don't _attempt a jump to a neighbouring dimension!"

Rimmer snorted. "No you haven't!" he scoffed. "Of over 10,000 predecessors, you've probably told _each _of us _once_. It's probably just slipped your CPU." Another flash of sparks erupted from the dashboard, casting forth a flurry of fingers across buttons and indistinct cursing against the wailing sirens. "You know, for a mainframe of over three million years, I think you're finally beginning to show your age."

The woman said nothing, instead choosing the scholastic simplicity of sticking out her tongue in reply, which Rimmer playfully returned.

Like the legend that is Ace Rimmer, there has always been a computer on the _Wildfire_. Hundreds of thousands of years of destiny had remained unchanged. Until now.

During the last two years alone, the long-fabled partnership had endured far more than previous incarnations had experienced in a lifetime. After a first few newbie adventures - the usual fare of rescuing damsels and notching up some bedpost experience - Rimmer's first major challenge had been to help to defend Filitus 12 from the threat of Pizzak and his simulant invasion.

Unfortunately, he'd cocked it up rather spectacularly.

Following the encounter, _Wildfire _had been left all but destroyed in its emergency crash-landing onto the planetoid's surface, the computer's mainframe was frazzled to within an inch of her life, and Rimmer had managed to sustain a rather nasty bruise to his upper arm.

But that was rather an unfair summary. The balls-up hadn't been quite as all-encompassing as previously documented. The end result had been achieved eventually; the simulants sent packing with their tails between their legs, thanks to Rimmer's uncanny ability to secure the Lucky Bastard Perfect Timing Award year after year.

Indeed, the Filitians had been so grateful for their help that they vowed to repay them in whatever way they could. Helpful, then, that they were renowned across the galaxy for their technological advances.

_Wildfire _had been rebuilt entirely - expanded, advanced and enhanced. The ship had been reborn - the phoenix from the flames.

Rimmer had had his boo-boo kissed by a rather pretty Filitian GELF. In fact, she'd been so keen to make sure he was fully recovered that she'd taken him back to her private quarters, just to be sure.

The computer had been brought back from the brink - her circuitry re-wired, her CPU restored and various language upgrades installed. Including Welsh.

But the Filitian's hadn't stopped there. Taking inspiration from the latest hard-light hologram technology, they'd created the computer a physical form for the first time in her existence. Her appearance had been based on an amalgamation of personality reflections and physical features that were key to continued working success with Ace Rimmer. After all, he was much more likely to pay attention to her important nagging if she had the D-cups to match.

She'd christened herself 'Rose'. She liked it. It was a pretty name.

But as Rimmer would tease her endlessly for, she was far from the blushing English flower that the name would imply.

"I thought we agreed this morning, you idiot?" she scolded under the assault of a fresh array of sparks. "In order to get her home, we need to head out to Dimension 362 before we could loop back to 23101986A?"

Rimmer sighed raggedly. "I thought I could get her home quicker."

"Right," the computer nodded with a knowing eyebrow. "All the _quicker _for you to get into her - "

The cockpit door yawned open to reveal the latest of a long line of Ace's rescuees, the pretty woman ducking her head through the low doorway to survey the situation. The pair quickly swivelled back to face her, features plastered with winning grins as genuine as a Chinese Rolex against the continuing chaos behind them.

Rimmer watched as wary eyes tracked over the dashboard readouts before the woman spooned back caramel locks behind her ear. "Is everything alright in here?" she ventured. The voice was as soft and petite as her frame, but with a definite polished edge.

"Course it is, sugar plum," Rimmer smoothed over in the suave tone that quickly lurched to hijack his voice. "Everything's - " he bit back his words, a 'tickety-boo' only millimetres from escape, " - running as smooth as a baby's bottom now." He cringed inwardly. Sweet lord, he hated those stupid idioms. "Just a slight hiccup back there. Small technical hitch."

The woman flitted questioning blue eyes across to Rose. The computer said nothing in return, instead nodding her loose agreement with the grin still fixed in place, despite the flashing red lights she could see pulsing in her peripheral vision.

Content, the woman flashed her once-famous Pinball Smile. "Not long now," she muttered in excitement before disappearing behind the sliding door.

Both grins melted instantly as Rose swivelled back to face him. "Technical hitch?" came the echo, tinted with barely-concealed sarcasm. She snorted dismissively. "The only _technical hitch _around here is the fact your lightbee clearly can't cope with powering both your brain and your - "

"Yes, fine. Thank you," Rimmer cut in tightly. He sat up straighter at the controls, trying to reign back a sense of dignity and professionalism. "Besides, that's complete and utter slander, and you know it."

A roll of the eyes was more than called for but the computer managed to keep it to a minimum. Turning back to the wailing controls, Rose ran slender, soothing fingers across the dashboard. "Shhh baby, you're okay." Grasping the co-pilot steering column with a deliberate visual double-entendre, she pulled it towards her in some semblance of control. "Come on," she tempered. "Come to mama, that's it."

Rimmer's shoulders shuddered as a teenage snigger spluttered forth unashamedly. Turning to share his amusement, his lecherous leer sagged under the weight of the Rose's challenging eyebrow.

"You're mean."

"I know."

A small white light pulsed for attention amongst the vast array of warnings that flickered across the dashboard, its buzzing growing in persistence.

"Phone's ringing," Rose sighed, nodding to the comms panel. "If they're trying to sell us a new energy supplier, tell them I'm in the bath."

Rimmer offered a roll of the eyes of his own, flicking the switch to open the communication channel. "You've reached Rimmer's Rescue Services," he announced, the suave tones of his 'Ace' voice in full swing. "Please leave a message after the tone detailing your emergency, coordinate location, and details of how you'd like me to _service _you, post-rescue."

He flashed a cheeky smirk in response to Rose's despairing face-palm. It was far too easy to wind the ancient computer up sometimes.

"Hello? Hello, can you hear me?"

Rimmer's face sagged immediately, the joke suddenly not so funny anymore. He licked away dry lips.

"Lister?" he managed, disbelieving, all traces of his 'Ace' voice gone.

A strange static sounded on the line as the Scouser replied with his squeaky chuckle. "Rimmer, I thought it was you, man," he chided. "What did you do? Hit the wrong switch and land back here again?"

Rimmer's nostrils flared in instinctive annoyance, but another concern prevented him from voicing it. "Something like that," he mumbled.

The gerbil-faced smirk was audible even at this distance. "Fair enough," Lister relented. "We'll swing by and say howdy, yeah? I'll get Kryten to crack out the bourbon biscuits."

The line disconnected leaving the pair to sit in solemn silence.

"Ah." Rimmer glanced back to the cockpit door before turning back to face Rose. She shared his look of embarrassment. "This - uh. This is going to be a tad awkward, isn't it?"

* * *

**_Interesting_. *strokes imaginary beard*. Who wants to bet that this isn't going to be very straight-forward...?**


	5. Cosmic Castaway

**Once again, thank you all ever so much for your kind reviews. Very much appreciated. **

**Bit of a cliffhanger in the last chapter, there. Let's get that one all out in the open, shall we? ^_^**

* * *

In the dark eeriness of _Wildfire's_ starboard corridor, the air lock door almost sounded as if it were alive; sounding tell-tale bass thumps and hisses to herald the impending arrivals. Stood before it in silence, the pair waited patiently for the de-pressurisation to complete.

Well, _one _of the pair was waiting patiently. The other clearly had a ferret up his leg judging by his persistent, nervous jiggling.

"Will you relax?" Rose hushed before turning back to the door. "You look like a man about to greet the in-laws."

Rimmer rapped the steel-cap of his right boot twice against the metal-grated floor in aggravation, as if to flush out the intruder once and for all. Most of his butterflies seem to have bred and mutated from his nervousness of how Lister would now see him after all this time - but it wasn't a thought he was about to voice to the computer.

Instead, he cocked an eyebrow. "Hardly," he parried back. "Just a tad concerned that I've neglected to tell Lister something I'm _fairly _sure he's going to notice as soon as he steps a madras-sweated boot on board."

Smirking at his edginess, Rose nodded back to the mid-section in indication. "Not forgetting that you haven't told her that - "

"Yes, thank you," Rimmer cut in tightly. "You know, funnily enough that's really not helping." He drummed nervous thin fingers against his thigh. "In fact, I'm betting that the odds on either him or Kris swinging for me as soon as they find out are really - _hi!_"

Rimmer's path of conversation took a sharp veer to the left and climbed three octaves as the air lock de-pressurised with a final _hiss_; the door swinging open to reveal the trio he honestly thought he'd never see again.

It was clear that the others had similar qualms; their greetings all muddled together into a sea of self-conscious, babbling small-talk. Exchanges of polite, banal enquiries of general health all tripped over one another in an awkward attempt at breaking the ice in this, quite frankly, surreal situation.

"Hi!"

"Hey!"

"Long time no see!"

"Yeah! How are you doin'?"

"Yes, yes. Fine. You?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Yeah, good, bud. Good."

"Very well. Thank you, sir."

And then, just as swiftly, the conversation died - an embarrassed silence descending upon the group as they all nodded distantly. There was a cough from the Cat's direction.

Glancing meaningfully over Rimmer's shoulder, Lister gave an uncomprehending chuckle. "Are you gonna show us round then?" he prompted.

"You know what?" The hologram rubbed his hands together a little too briskly. "The ship's a huge mess at the moment following the rebuild. So I thought it might be nicer to just stay here in the corridor and - _oof_!" A subtle yet hard elbow to the ribs forced a change of tack.

"Kidding!" he reassured nervously to the bemused glances of the group. "Step right through. Let's get the kettle on, shall we? Kryten can crack open those delightful-looking bourbons."

Waving the trio past with a fixed grin in place, he leant back to hiss to Rose through gritted teeth.

"Lock the munitions cupboard."

The Dwarfers meandered slowly through the ship like a trio of tourists, sounding a harmony of impressed noises as their necks craned and swivelled to take in the sights of the extensive rebuild. Usually finding a dragging pace an irritant, Rimmer was secretly grateful for any delay to the inevitable.

As they approached the mid-section, his Adam's apple did a rather impressive swan dive to the pit of his stomach. "So, is there anything I can get you?" he managed, his voice flying slightly off-key given its conspicuous absence. "Tea? Coffee?"

Not noticing the sudden stop in his tracks, the group bundled into the back of Lister's jacket leather. Wilma's painted image continued to smile back at them innocently, blissfully unaware of their collective shock as they stared openly over his shoulders. Lister stood just as motionless in the doorway - a rabbit trapped in headlights.

Rimmer coughed awkwardly. "Relationship counsellor?" he muttered under his breath.

At the same moment Kochanski's gaze lifted to meet his, her copy of _Pride and Prejudice _sank, unawares, to the table. Her mouth fell open, the book similarly abandoned as she scraped back her chair to stand.

"Dave?" she managed.

Yet Lister couldn't form a reply; his tongue finally rendered speechless after a lifetime of chirpy banter. He'd pictured this moment countless times over the years - the scene before him playing out just as surreal and dream-like as his months of musing.

The silence of the room was deafening. Rimmer dismissed it with a wag of the finger.

"Tea," he surmised upon its departure. "Definitely time for tea."

* * *

It was the longest he'd ever spent putting the kettle on. Galaxies formed and died in the time he took to fill it up with water. Intergalactic empires rose and fell in the moments waiting for him to pop it on the tiny stove and click on the gas.

He didn't need to look back over his shoulder. The eerily light tread of her step gave it away as she approached, resting her chin on his shoulder.

The buzzing hum of Rose's sigh resonated up his neck. "You can't hide in here forever, you know," she chided gently.

"I can try," Rimmer sang back, his voice sarcastically melodic. He heaved a sigh of his own, the inevitable question on the tip of his tongue. "Did he ask why she did it?"

The computer nodded silently.

"And?"

She leant back against the tiny counter top, tilting her head thoughtfully until red bangs tumbled across her eyes. "She threw him the 'I needed time to think' line."

Rimmer hissed through his teeth. "Ouch."

Rose flicked an eyebrow but didn't reply. Whether Lister had actually _bought _the excuse was a different matter. "Come on," she encouraged, her voice low. "You've got to face the music sooner rather than later."

* * *

By the time he'd begun slowly meandering back to the mid-section, Rimmer could already make out the animated discussion of the group. Perched in the doorway, he could see that Lister had finally regained his vocal faculties along with his chirpy mannerisms, his grin so wide that he risked displaying the fillings in the furthest shadows of his teeth.

His focus quickly shifted to Kochanski as she listened politely to their enthusiastic regalement of their adventures to try and find her once more. Despite appearances, her beaming face was a far cry from the Pinball Smile she'd flashed when the prospect of being reunited with _her _Dave had seemed oh-so-close.

Rimmer recognised the distance in her eyes even if Lister didn't. His chest sighed the silent comprehension that despite the fact he'd traversing thousands of light years to be reunited with her in the same room after years apart, it hadn't brought them any closer together.

Lister clocked his presence as he hovered uncertainly in the galley doorway and he dipped his head back in invitation to join them.

"Hey," he smiled warmly, "I was just sayin' to Krissie how amazing this is. Think about it. When you take the sheer size of the cosmos, and the fact we just happen to bump into each other." Lister shook his head solemnly. "It's gotta be fate, surely?"

Rimmer swallowed. Less cosmic fate, more colossal foul-up.

He scratched the back of his neck before jabbing a vague thumb over his shoulder. "Um, actually," he ventured, his 'Ace' voice making a cautious return, "we were trying to find our way back - "

"_To you_," Kochanski finished, suspiciously emphatic. She snared Rimmer's questioning glance, speaking to him pointedly. "We were trying to find a way back _here_, right?"

Her head nodded for his agreement which, in his confusion, set his head off bobbing like a nodding dog on a car dashboard. "Right," he echoed, no-one in the driving seat.

Missing their coded exchange, Lister's gerbil grin scampered across his cheeks. "This is in-smegging-credible!" he cried for the fifth time that evening. "How did you do it, man? Where did you find her?"

Rimmer coughed clumsily. "The young lady had landed herself in a spot of bother with the local GELFs, that's all." He jutted out his chin, less in a jock-ish act, more to free his neck from the collar of his jacket that he swore blind was getting tighter. "Nothing special, I can assure you."

Regarding him through one eye, Lister snorted jokingly. "What's with the accent, smeghead?" he chided, a cheeky Liverpudlian wink not far behind. "Practicing keeping in character, are yer?"

Rimmer's cheeks flared red, the increasing horde of mutant butterflies in his stomach now fighting for escape. "Something like that, Davey-boy," he replied, pained. The 'Ace' voice dipped low, his old nasal tones beginning to bite through. "Keeping up the whole performance if you _catch _my _drift_," he gritted, the words punctuated with meaningful gestures towards the woman between them.

Now it was Kochanski's turn to be confused. "What are you two talking about?"

"Surely he's told yer?" Lister leapt in, the veiled pleas for secrecy completely passing him by. He punched Rimmer playfully on the arm with his studded glove. "It's _Rimmer_!" he pronounced proudly. "You know - _our _Rimmer!"

Kochanski shook her head, a polite laugh accompanying it. "Dave," she sighed loftily. "He's not Rimmer. This is _Ace_ - "

" - who our Rimmer became. Exactly!" Lister pressed. "Come on, Kris, he's got to have bored you with the story a thousand times by now?" Greeted with a blank face, he ploughed on into the tempest he just couldn't see coming. "That the first Rimmer wasn't dead? That he'd just been away for ten years or so being Ace?"

Rimmer's eyes sank closed. "Lister - "

"And that old _Iron Balls _overhere," the nickname was marked with teasing air quotations, "left a couple of years back to take over the job?" He broke into his famous squeaky chuckle. Either that, or someone nearby was failing to start their wheezingly ancient Skoda.

"Oh Kris, you've gotta tell me," he managed eventually. "Did he have to keep checkin' his 'How to' manual when he was rescuing yer? Or did he just bore the GELFs to death with his recitals of Space Corps directives?"

With his laughter dying away, Lister finally clocked the reactions of his captive audience. Rimmer was slowly shaking his head, aghast; Kochanski's face was rapidly darkening like an oncoming storm. His smile retreated in realisation.

"He - um." Lister coughed. "He hasn't told you, has he?"

Kochanski didn't answer, instead choosing to slowly turn back to face Rimmer's look of pure, undiluted panic. "Don't you _dare _tell me it's true," she growled, her voice dangerously quiet.

There was an awkward silence as Rimmer's mouth jabbered open and closed like a robot goldfish. He'd battled a vast array of half-crazed simulants and blood-thirsty GELFs over the last two years, staring death in the face on a daily basis with an infuriatingly cocky trademark smirk. But right now, this petite woman - probably riddled with PMT judging by her murderous stare - was possibly the most frightening entity he'd ever experienced.

His eyes flitted nervously over her shoulder to Lister's guilty wince before returning to her accusatory glare. Time to face the music.

"Miss Kochanski, ma'am, I can explain - " he began in his old nasal tone.

Kochanski's hands shot to her open mouth at the gut-wrenching familiarity of his voice. "Oh my god!" she cried. "Oh my god, it was you the whole time!" She paused momentarily as a memory came back to her, features clouding with a scowl. "The _whole _time...?"

"Technically speaking, I - "

_SLAP_

Rimmer circled his jaw like a masticating cow. " - deserved that," he continued, as if he'd never been interrupted.

His now-glowing cheek was rather used to this sort of reaction. The others couldn't have known, but he'd often found himself inadvertently stepping into old haunts and dimensions of his predecessors, subsequently meeting women who would greet him with a hard whack to the mouth. There was clearly plenty of history he would never be, and didn't overly want to be, privy to.

Her petite frame rounded on the Dwarfer trio, all now leaning away from her imperceptibly. "And you _knew _it was him, the whole time?" She eye-balled each of them in turn. "_All _of you?"

Kryten could swear blind that the piercing whistle on the air was from the steam squealing from her ears, not the kettle next door reaching a boil. The first to buckle under the pressure, his features twitched like a parody of Stan Laurel as he fumbled, unseeing, for the galley doorway.

"Why, I believe the water's boiled, sirs, ma'am!" he announced, flustered. "I better go make a start on that round of tea."

The Cat bundled out after him, flashing Kochanski a toothy, false grin in his wake. "Yeah, yeah," he fumbled. "Let me help you, there."

Kochanski growled into her palms, her breaths coming short and fast. Rimmer inched towards her carefully - this rattlesnake that was sure to bite - and placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

"Kris - "

She shrugged off his touch, just as Lister forced himself to do. "Why didn't you tell me?" she ground out.

"I don't know." Rimmer shrugged pathetically. "I guess - " he fumbled, " - it didn't come up in conversation?"

The once sapphire sparkle of her eyes disappeared as they narrowed dangerously. "Oh, I'm fairly sure that you had plenty of opportunities to slip it into the conversation," she hissed. "When you first rescued me, perhaps? When we spent that whole night just talking and sharing stories?" Her face flushed red with sheer mortification. "When you walked in on me getting out of the shower this morning?"

She conceded it was a cheap-shot but didn't much care right now. It was enough to fan the flames that she knew full-well had been brewing in the man beside her. And sure enough, they flared up quickly.

"You saw her naked?" Lister challenged through a dark scowl.

"Hey, don't make _me _the bad guy in all this," Rimmer bit back. With all traces of his theatrical voice now gone and the weasel biting back through, it was becoming increasingly hard to still think of him as his alter ego despite the get-up. "She knows full well it was an accident!"

At Lister's unwavering frown, he held his hands aloft with a groan. "Now I have two people angry at me. How, pray tell, is that fair?"

Lister folded his arms. "You got to see Kris with her kit off. What are _you _moaning about?"

_SLAP. _Now two men were rubbing sore cheeks.

Kochanski glared at the pair, the hands by her sides clutched so tight that the knuckles were white. "You two deserve one another!" she snapped before turning on her heels and storming out.

Rose's eyes flitted between the startled pair, offering an apologetic shrug before hurrying out after her. The men winced as the door seemed to slide shut a little more forcefully than usual.

Eyes sinking closed, Rimmer pinched the bridge of his nose. Cavernous nostrils flared behind his hand as he sighed. Kris had been right - he _had _been granted countless chances to admit to her who he was. But although he didn't like to think about it, the pretence had been what had kept him going. If she believed the lie, he almost felt like the façade were true.

A strange crunching sound drew him from his musings. Glancing up, he was met by Lister's guilty expression as he slowly munched on a biscuit.

"So," Lister began through awkward chews before trailing off, not entirely sure what to say. Instead, he held out the packet as a peace offering. "Bourbon?"


	6. Identity Within

**Thanks once again to everyone for your kind reviews, as well as to new followers. I do hope you enjoy.**

* * *

"But it's _Rimmer_," Kochanski protested, the name itself conjuring an uncontrollable shudder. "A perverted, uptight weasel of a man who probably still has a pair of my knickers under his pillow!"

The two women sat hunched over on the single bunk, the cramped confines of the guest sleeping quarters making proceedings a little awkward. Drawing her knees up defensively to her chest, Kochanski rested her chin on her hands and sighed.

She could still recall their time together on the _SS Silverberg _and how she'd teetered uncomfortably close to sleeping with him - or perhaps more accurately, tossing him a pity shag. The man was so desperate that he'd even asked to keep her undies as a souvenir.

Rose bit her lip, chewing over the accusation. Although the hologram had never outright confirmed her suspicions, she was fairly sure that there was some kind of hazy history there. Some form of spark or unrequited attraction - not _love_, definitely not love. She didn't think him capable of that. Not yet, anyway.

Her eyes flitted critically over the woman's features. She was pretty, admittedly, yet plainly unassuming compared to some of the stunning beauties that Ace's reputation was capable of bedding. It was an equation that simply didn't add up for the computer. But as she'd found all too often, certain human-generated calculations would always continue to elude her.

"I'm sure he didn't mean any harm," she soothed. "He - " Rose stopped herself, dipping her head to hide thoughtfully behind bangs of hair. Facial expressions were such an annoying giveaway. "_I_ _- _" she shifted with the grating of gears, " - told him not to tell you who he was."

"But why?" Kochanski pressed, eyes searching hers.

Reaching out her hand, Rose rubbed a reassuring thumb across the bumps of the woman's knuckles, trying to seek out the best answer. Because he might still have a hideous crush on you? Because he was too scared to? Because you actually began to show him an ounce of respect when you thought he was someone else?

"Because Ace has far too many enemies out there," she replied eventually. It was her alibi and she was sticking with it. "Keeping the truth from you was the only way to keep you safe in case the worst happened."

Relenting, Kochanski nodded. That did make sense. The nature of the job meant that a hostage situation automatically put any of Ace's companions at risk of divulging the Universe's most important secret.

"So from what Dave was saying - " she began slowly, rolling the premise around her mouth, " - Ace is not one person but a _character _almost, I guess? Some kind of mythological hero figure that has to be sustained through thousands of separate incarnations?"

Rose nodded, unabashed. "Pretty much."

Kochanski considered this for a moment before a cocktail of one-part amazement to three-parts doubt escaped in a dismissive snort. "But you're talking about somehow forming a hero out of a man as weedy as an abandoned allotment!" She reflected the computer's smirk as she shook her head, disbelieving. "You can't change a person that much, surely?"

"I don't change them," Rose sniggered, leaning back on her hands. "I simply draw out the skills and self-confidence they had deep down all along." She dipped her head in acceptance, her words reluctantly following suit. "Admittedly, with some of them its buried deeper than others." The computer arched a weary eyebrow. "Some require a JCB industrial digger before I can get to what I need."

Rose basked in the glow of the woman's chuckle, biting back a smirk of her own. "But each one does get there in the end, you know. The caterpillar eventually becomes the butterfly."

She nodded distantly to herself, the pride of countless incarnations warming her CPU with a resonance that couldn't hope to be described. "And when they do?" she ventured quietly, as if almost embarrassed at her attempt to find the right words. Instead, she simply smiled. "It's the best reward in the known Universe."

As Kochanski's returned the warm smile, Rose's gaze momentarily flitted to the doorway to picture the man beyond. Despite his best efforts and her tireless encouragement, this one wasn't quite there yet. She was sure that all he lacked was the self-belief; simply needing a good kick up the arse to make him realise that he was ready. It only needed the baptism of fire that a typical 'blaze of glory' moment could afford to inspire the sudden decisive shift to step up to the name he'd earned and deserved.

But she had to admit, he certainly was different. Unlike many of his predecessors, he was rather capable of revealing a cheeky, rebellious streak that she could only assume had been borne out of his time in the Tank. It had clearly not only been a penal sentence, but a servitude that had caused him to lose faith in the hierarchy he'd so faithfully followed for years. Riled by his rejection, he'd channelled his natural, pent-up aggression and sense of injustice into joining his cellmate in his love of pranks and anarchy.

In short, he was a frustratingly uncontrollable rebel who would rarely take himself or anything around him seriously. All the hallmarks of Ace Rimmer - the loveable bastard.

"I've gotta admit," Rose continued through a whimsical smirk. "Despite the dangers and the near-death experiences, we do have some good laughs along the way. Sometimes you forget they won't be around forever."

The smile swiftly died on her lips and she coughed awkwardly. "But it's the way it has to be, I suppose. Each of them serves their time, fulfils their destiny, then they - " That last word failed her. Even in her explanation, it was final and fatal in its impact.

Kochanski looked pained. "It's a dangerous job," she offered quietly.

Rose didn't reply.

A strange purple glow resonated from the port window. The sparkling spiral of a galaxy glided slowly across the frame, its swirls studded with distant stars that winked back at them silently.

"That must be hard," Kochanski murmured as she watched it pass. "Spending every day with someone you know you're going to lose in the end."

Glancing back in the quiet that followed, she noticed that Rose's gaze had dropped to the folds of the bed, the cheeky glimmer in her green eyes faded somewhat. The storm of conflicting emotions that thundered through her face seemed to far outstrip her artificial intelligence. For a moment, Kochanski sensed something very old, yet very human about her.

"I try not to think about it," she decided eventually.

Kochanski nodded but said nothing. It was a truthful answer, and one she clearly wanted to leave at that.

* * *

It was a half-truth. She _tried _not to think about it. About them. Him.

It had been just under two years since he'd been forcibly retired. But she still found herself wondering how he was.

The role of Ace had never been designed to be a long-term commitment, she'd known that all too well. It was far too great a responsibility, far too dangerous a risk to bear. But she'd turned a blind eye. Ignored the warning signs that had become more and more obvious each passing day.

Whenever she found herself wandering back to the memories of those ten long years, the recollection came in bitter-sweet bursts. Pulsations of fierce pride and painful regret.

The 'what ifs' were the worst. What if she'd never let him find out about his son? What if she'd never let him decide between the fate of the refugees of the _Exodus_ and his old crewmates? What if she'd never let him go back to _Red Dwarf _to save them all that one final time?

But that's what happens when you let them carry the flame for too long. They get burnt. Or worst still, lost to the fire itself.

* * *

Although she often thought about him, he never thought about her.

Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't. The memory of her and everything they'd experienced together had been crudely ripped from his mind like a bandage from an unhealed wound, leaving behind nothing but a sore ache that he could never quite place the meaning of.

But right now, he wasn't really thinking at all. His mind was lost to a contented, post-coital slumber.

Legs still lazily intertwined with his, Nirvanah studied his face as he slept. The nervousness that had tugged at his features as they'd climbed into bed together had now dissolved into a relaxation she'd never thought him capable of.

She wasn't sure which was unsettling her the most. She was still confused by how his fumbling self-awareness had evolved startlingly yet pleasingly quickly into expert slips of his fingers and feather-light bites on the nape of her neck that made her gasp with a pleasure she'd never experienced before.

It were as if the shedding of his clothes had released a completely different person hidden deep within. Awakening a sexual instinct that conjured forth a vast array of techniques that even he didn't seem to realise he knew how to perform.

But perhaps more unsettling was the fluttering insistence in her chest telling her that she'd made a sacrifice she'd been disconcertingly happy to grant. That the usual walls of defence had easily crumbled down without her even realising; allowing him to step through, unabashed yet unassuming.

Her eyes traced the bare, shallow curve from his hip to his chest as it rose and fell steadily. If this was it, it wasn't what she'd expected to feel like at all. It was like she'd finally woken up. That everything she'd experienced until this point had just been a dream.

Ever the starched over-thinker - a flaw equally inherent in the man lying beside her - she'd been baffled when she'd carefully studied and pored over ancient poetry that had described the initial act of love as 'falling'. She instinctively snaked out a hand to grip the sheets of the bed in some semblance of control. It certainly felt that way. That her stomach was turning somersaults in alarm at the risk she was taking. The risk that was totally and utterly worth it.

A soft yet insistent beeping sounded from the monitor across the bedroom and Nirvanah let go of a reluctant sigh. A summons to the bridge and back to reality.

Turning back to the snoozing man beside her, she felt her cheeks flush with a strange but pleasurable warmth as she kissed the tip of his nose to wake him. She giggled as his nose twitched in irritation, frowning distantly as he groaned his displeasure.

"Come on, you," Nirvanah berated playfully. She left a trail of kisses across the metallic hairs of his chest, rousing him from an impossibly deep slumber. "We've been summoned. By the Captain, no doubt. I think they want you to go back."

Blinking experimentally against the glare of the bedroom light, Rimmer glanced at her, bleary-eyed, as he raised his head from the warm depths of the pillow. "Back?" he echoed sleepily.

She giggled, combing her fingers through the mussed curls of his hair. "_Red Dwarf?_" she ventured patiently. "Your crewmates have probably come to fetch you." She smiled at him warmly before getting up to slip on a silk green dressing gown over her bare shoulders.

Hauling himself to sit upright amongst the sheets, Rimmer rolled the premise around his foggy mind as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. In that strange moment, caught between sleep and wakefulness, the name and the premise all seemed foreign to him. Instead he felt content to wallow in the post-coital, drugged warmth that seemed to be radiating through his naked body.

His hand sank back down to the bed with a satisfied sigh as he clocked the mirror across the room.

The breath caught in his throat.

The mirror that reflected a still, grey-cloaked figure, staring back at him wordlessly from the dark folds of his hood.

A shiver up his spine suddenly turned him cold. The same shadowy figure he swore blind he'd seen hovering in the mirror of his sleeping quarters back on _Red Dwarf_.

"Arnie?"

Rimmer's head whipped back to her voice. Gathering up the red curls that had once cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes flickered with concern as they searched his.

"You coming?" she ventured.

Rimmer swallowed, forcing his cheeks to draw back a smile. "Sure," he offered uncertainly.

After a thoughtful pause, she turned away once more. Rimmer risked a glance back to the mirror. His bemused, frazzle-haired reflection stared back.

* * *

The bridge was unsettlingly quiet when they arrived, the air hanging heavy with silent expectation.

Nirvanah's chest tightened as she noticed the six figures stood alongside Platini and the senior crew. The very presence of their black, square-shouldered uniforms and red-stripe cuffs conjured forth a visual reminder of their fierce military standing. She'd never met the Captain and crew of the _Occassus _before, but their serious and unfriendly reputation most definitely preceded them.

She held firm, fixing a tight, polite smile in place as she raised her hand in a perfect _Enlightenment _salute. "Captain Viktoras, I presume?"

Hovering nervously behind Nirvanah's petite frame, Rimmer watched as a bear-like behemoth of a man nodded graciously, flicking a dismissive salute of his own. "Commander Crane," he replied loftily before quickly turning his attention directly to him. His cheeks immediately broadened in what could only be described as an unashamedly Cheshire Cat grin.

"Mr Rimmer," he roared happily. "So very good to finally meet you." Viktoras's dark eyes seemed to light up with a sparkle that reflected some hidden agenda. "I've heard so much about your - " he paused thoughtfully, " - reputation."

Rimmer blinked twice, utterly confused. "I have a reputation?" he squeaked.

Viktoras threw back his head, sounding a booming laugh that echoed across the walls. "Oh I'd say so," he nodded meaningfully. "A very _promising _reputation."

Nirvanah edged her way across to Platini, angling her head to allow a subtle whisper. "Captain, what on earth are they doing here?" she hissed desperately.

Platini jutted his chin to loosen his collar. "Business," he replied simply.

"But - "

"As in, _none of our business_, Commander." He glanced at her sharply before looking away once more.

Viktoras had clearly overheard the commotion behind him, swivelling back on his heels to address the pair. "As you know, we holograms live in dangerous times," he stated with an emphasis that laid down foundations that could not be questioned or shaken. "The simulants are attacking us on all fronts." His features and resolve hardened. "Breeding relentless holo-viruses to bring down our numbers from within."

He drew a cleansing breath before releasing it steadily. "It's about time we took the decision to up our game." He shot the pair a challenging eyebrow. "Made use of the Ace up our sleeve, wouldn't you say?"

Nirvanah frowned, unimpressed. She'd always been of the belief that the relentless and pointless war between the holograms and simulants would be resolved far more swiftly if they let go of mutual recrimination. Or better still, if the human race had never insisted on creating such a stupidly powerful battle droid race in the first place. Calling upon the assistance of the legend that was Ace was sure to bring nothing but reprisals and bloodshed.

Platini cleared his throat. "Natually, Captain," he nodded reluctantly.

Viktoras snorted in amusement. "But as our trail of this elusive man has run disappointingly cold, we've reached the conclusion that we don't necessarily have to recruit the current Ace Rimmer." Viktoras turned back to stare pointedly at Rimmer. "Especially when we are already in the company of a past incarnation."

The silence that followed in the wake of his words was deafening as Rimmer stared the accusation back in the face. Eventually, Nirvanah evicted it with a disbelieving scoff.

"That's ridiculous, Captain," she dismissed. "I'd have - " Remembering herself and the company she was currently in, she swiftly shifted her approach. "Mr. Rimmer would have already informed us, I'm sure of it."

"The Ace files are a category one," Viktoras explained evenly. "Not a level of knowledge you were privy to I'm afraid, _Commander_." He turned back so that his eyes bored into Rimmer's. "His projection signal is an exact match to incarnation 12,762. Gentlemen, this man before you has served almost ten years as the legend himself. A service that is near unparalleled and unrivalled."

"That's not true," Nirvanah batted back with a disbelieving chuckle that quickly spluttered and died on her lips. In the incriminating silence that followed, her face seemed to sag under the weight of the revelation. She swallowed carefully before trying to catch Rimmer's eye. "Tell him it's not true."

Rimmer tried to keep his voice steady as he held Viktoras's stare. "With respect, sir, I've never been Ace - " he said emphatically, not sure who exactly he was trying to convince more.

"Correction," Viktoras cut in, unfazed. "You don't _remember _being Ace. Memory wipes at the end of service are standard procedure according to other incarnations we've encountered. But we have the technology to rectify that rather easily," he added with a nonchalant wave of the hand, as if this were a minor issue.

"Rectify?" Rimmer echoed unsteadily.

"It's no secret that we're in need of some information and - " Viktoras paused thoughtfully, as if searching for the right word, " - _assistance _that it seems that only you are able to provide us with."

_Because they want a murderer, Mr. Rimmer. A man who can help them slaughter the simulant race._

As if it were an echo of their encounter at the Blerion Trading Post weeks before, Juno's words seemed to be reborn at that very moment. The warning felt so stark and real, it felt as though the symbi-morph herself were standing right there beside that intimidating colossus of a man, staring back at him expectantly.

"You see, Mr Rimmer," Viktoras continued, "we've been looking for you for a very, very long time."

As Rimmer's eyes desperately flitted across the Captain's aged yet rugged features, they snagged on the strong, familiar definitions of his jaw. And in a flash, he could picture - no, _remember_ - how he had seen him at the Festival of the Full Moon back on Blerios 5. He'd been thrusting some intelligible photograph into the face of an un-amused stall-holder, demanding to know the subject's whereabouts.

Yes. Yes they had.

Rimmer suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He blinked away the memory, confused.

Viktoras smiled a salesman smile; all flash and no substance. His group of bear-built solders stepped forward to flank him, as if to seal the deal. "So if you'd be so kind as to come with us, Mr. Rimmer," he concluded.

_You're history if they catch you._

Rimmer's breath quickened. This wasn't a mission for information. He'd walked right into a trap.

"I er - " he fumbled, shooting Nirvanah a panicked glance. "I don't think I want to."

Viktoras's face darkened. This clearly wasn't the response he'd been after. "I think you'll find, Mr Rimmer, that was a request, not an invitation."

As Viktoras took a step towards him, Rimmer took a nervous step back. His eyes flitted across the crew of the _Enlightenment _searching their faces, silently pleading for help. Nobody said anything. They simply averted their gaze with awkward coughs.

"Excuse me, _Captain_," Nirvanah drew out the word in her immaculately well-heeled accent that revealed exactly what she thought of his 'request'. "But I think you'll find you can't just stride aboard with your gorilla types and expect us to comply." She half-turned to Platini. "_Please_, sir- do something," she whispered under her breath.

And Platini did. Unfortunately it wasn't the move that Nirvanah was expecting. She gasped in shock as he gripped her neck, pressing a quivering gun into the small of her back.

"I'm sorry, Commander, I had no choice."

A bead of simulated sweat traced a line down Platini's temple. Although the premise of holding a member of his own crew hostage verged on unforgivable, the desperation for his own self-preservation was far stronger.

Grasping her tighter, Platini's features hardened as he regarded their guest over her shoulder. "Mr Rimmer, if you don't comply, I'll be forced to use Commander Crane's dead lightbee as a rather decorative paperweight," he threatened evenly.

Rimmer stared at the pair, aghast - a wave of self-loathing paralysing him. This had to be a some sort of sick joke, surely? How in the name of smeg could he ever have been Ace? After all, despite his unforgivable levels of smug-gittery, Ace would never have been as scared rigid as he was now.

Surely if he'd once been Ace, he'd have disabled Platini with a devastating roundhouse kick by now, freed Nirvanah, snatched up the gun and with a flick of his girly blonde locks told Viktoras exactly where he could stick his 'request'.

"It's your choice, Mr. Rimmer," Viktoras announced broadly, his dark eyes glinting. "Personally, I wouldn't want to sacrifice such a pretty specimen."

Of course he wasn't Ace. He was just Arnold J. Rimmer - a coward who could only watch helplessly as the woman he loved was held to ransom.

"Shall we?" Viktoras challenged with an arched eyebrow.

"Arnie, don't." Nirvanah shook her head desperately. "Don't."

Rimmer's gaze flitted between them each of them in turn, as if weighing up his decision. Eventually with a relenting sigh his eyes sank closed, head bowed to the floor. He nodded silently.

Viktoras's chuckle echoed across the walls of the bridge as he strode towards him. "Finally!" he boomed, encircling the defeated hologram until he stood directly behind him. "I was beginning to think we'd have a fight on our hands!" He snorted derisively. "Although admittedly, I'm a little disappointed not to have seen you in action yet."

Startled, Rimmer jumped as he grasped him roughly by the arms; shrinking back as that menacing voice tickled his ear.

"Let's have a dig around in those memory files of yours, shall we?" It whispered. "Perhaps we'll find you a _backbone _after all."


	7. Misconceptions: part one

**Apologies for the long gap between updates, everyone. As many of you know, I'm currently expecting my first child (in fact, I've got about six weeks to go before launch), which has proven most distracting when it comes to ficcing! ;-) Therefore, I'm going to do my utmost to keep updating as often as I can over the next few weeks, and hopefully reach a decent cliffhanger/story middle-point before I go on 'ficcing maternity', as t'were.**

**I do hope you enjoy this latest chapter. As always, thank you so much to everyone who reads. Reviews are loved and hugged.**

* * *

At first glance, it would be easy to mistake the short, growling figure in the doorway as some form of miniature Kinitowawi. Perhaps one that had stowed away, undiscovered, on the _Wildfire _for months - only now deigning to emerge from a make-shift den concocted of abandoned food crates and dust sheets.

Indeed, the explosion of knotted reddish-brown hair threw the face below into a mask of shadow that rendered identification impossible. A tired, rumbling yawn groaned from its depths.

Kochanski hadn't slept _that _badly since the incident with the noisy pipes back on _Starbug_.

Futile fingers combed through the tangles of her mane as she meandered down the corridor, somehow hoping to tame it back into some semblance of a pony-tail. Sleep had most definitely eluded her, she'd decided. Waived gaily as it buggered off on some unspecified business trip.

In its absence, her mind had outright refused to switch off for the night. Instead, it seemed far more intent on poring over the oxymoron of the man next door. The sarcastic hero. The gallant weasel. The man who was both Ace and Arnold - and yet neither.

The light from his doorway stretched weakly into the murk of the corridor; the darkness rapidly losing its claim with the morning's gradual arrival. Kochanski rubbed her eyes with an equal mix of confusion and exhaustion. Odd.

Keeping a light tread across the harsh metal-grating of the deck, she edged into the light to peer inside. And there the conundrum himself sat; the table before him littered with the glinting components of weaponry rather than the astronavigation revision notes that she had once been used to. The square shoulders of his military-grey jacket were now rounded in a hunch of concentration as he meticulously cleaned each gun part with a collection of cloths and brushes laid out neatly beside him.

It was like a visual _trompe l'oiel _that she'd suddenly solved. Now that she knew he was Rimmer, she could see nothing but. Despite the wig's uncanny ability to transform the once-spiky angles of his face, his characteristic rodent nose twitch as he focused on his fiddly work belied his true identity.

"If you're trying to be subtle, I can confirm that you're failing miserably."

Kochanski jumped at the familiarity of his voice. The smooth, dulcet tones that she'd once heard gliding like caramel from his tongue had now melted away. In its place came the return of the snide, nasal notes that snagged on her patience like fingernails on a chalkboard.

He hadn't even deigned to glance up at her. Instead, he placed his tiny brush with regimental precision in the reporting line beside him before selecting another for duty.

"Can I come in?"

Rimmer arched an eyebrow from under the bangs of his wig. To the outsider it would appear to be a dismissive gesture. To Kochanski, she knew it to be a begrudging invitation. She approached him slowly until she stood at the table.

"May I sit down?" she prompted.

Again, he didn't reply verbally or even acknowledge her request with eye contact. Instead, the chair in front her suddenly thrust away from the table in a wordless, screeching response to her request.

Kochanski prickled at his rudeness but sat down regardless. In the eerie, early morning silence that resonated in place of conversation, she allowed her eyes to wander across the unfamiliar sleeping quarters. Despite their initial friendly closeness upon her rescue and the late night heart-to-hearts that had followed, she realised that she'd never seen his quarters before. She'd never needed to. He'd always come to her - as if he could sense her need for reassurance and closeness.

Now she could see why. This was the only place in the universe where Ace and Arnold collided. Where two identities clashed together, fighting for some semblance of supremacy. The hero's brash and bold gallantry - reflected in the room's liberal littering of weaponry, star charts and tokens of gratitude from far-flung galaxies - had definitely been tamed by a familiar obsession with tidiness and order.

Kochanski raised an eyebrow at the double bunk. Of course. After all, what else did she expect? It had to be a bed large enough to house the man, his ego, and the latest participant in what appeared to be Ace's sponsored shag-a-thon through the known universes.

She blinked. It looked untouched.

"You've not been to bed."

"Super sleuth."

Kochanski regarded him with a reproachful frown that went unnoticed, but her brow soon receded as she studied his face more carefully. Despite their fixed concentration on his work, the tired, dark shadows under his eyes were more than evident.

"Couldn't sleep?" she ventured.

Still focused on his cleaning rather than returning her gaze, he expelled a protracted and deliberate sigh of irritation. "Things to do."

Kochanski rolled her eyes. Only he would be capable of becoming _more _angry after an argument, not less. Brooding over his grudge like a chicken hatching an egg. Well, if she had to be the more mature of the pair then so be it.

"I'm sorry I slapped you." Nervous fingers knotted in her lap before clasping together in an overly formal manner for someone attired in third-hand, make-shift pyjamas. Her voice adopted a rather starched approach that uncannily mirrored his. "But you lied to me and I was angry. I hope you understand that."

She shifted awkwardly in her seat as the flicks of his brush increased the aggressiveness of their strokes. Her polished reprimand had sounded uncomfortably like an echo of her mother's - the ever prim and proper lady who had worked tirelessly to shed the unwanted family inheritance that came with their Glaswegian roots and working class background. With a shudder, she deliberately extracted the harshness from her tone and softened her approach.

"But Rose explained that you were trying to protect me," she nodded gently. "After all, this is your -" she paused, searching for the right word, " - job now, I suppose."

The man beside her remained silent. Kochanski watched as he glanced experimentally down the gun sight before deciding upon another brush.

Her chest fluttered for a moment, recalling the unsettling ease with which he'd brandished those weapons in the name of protecting her. She wondered how many other enemies he'd regarded through the cold, unseeing eyes of those barrels.

A chill crawled up her spine. She wondered how he'd felt when he himself had stared into those very eyes. Staring his own death in the face - unprepared, defenceless and afraid.

"She also told me what happened," she ventured quietly. "What that simulant did to you."

It had been an act beyond humanity. How - in the final battle between the simulants and Rimmer's predecessor almost two years previously - he had been killed in cold blood. Just to stop what the simulants had thought to be the next link in the chain of Ace's successors.

Indeed, Rimmer's eyes winced closed, as if haunted by the echo of the fatal bullet. Kochanski bit her lip as she noticed his brush stop for just a moment, his brow pinched with a pained frown that he shrugged off quickly to return to his task.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. Whether she was offering a surreal formality of condolence or apology for treading one step too close for comfort, she wasn't certain.

Whatever the connotation, Rimmer's nostrils flared for a moment at her words before settling into position once more. Despite the stern look on his face, his fingers now resonated with a barely noticeable tremble that made the brush quiver.

She offered a quiet olive branch the only way she knew how. "You know, if you ever want to - "

"Kris!"

The suddenness of his outburst visibly startled her - but not quite so much as the terrible silence that followed when he finally locked his stare with hers. The hazel swirls of his eyes looked charged with the power of so many words unsaid.

Eventually, Rimmer's exasperated sigh released it. "Funnily enough, there's a reason why Hallmark don't do greetings cards that read - _'Sorry you popped your clogs - I'm here if you want a chat about it.'_."

Plucking up one of the magazine cartridges from the table, he inspected it silently - counting and logging the rounds in neat copperplate handwriting on the notepad beside him. "In polite society, it's still regarded as a bit of a conversation-killer. Pardon the pun."

Riled by his sarcasm, her exhaustion, and what seemed like an eternal damnation of rudeness, Kochanski let forth a frustrated growl. "Then what on earth are you so angry about?" she snapped.

Slamming down the magazine, Rimmer's eyes suddenly flared with angered desperation. "That you're finding it so bloody hard to accept!"

Kochanski blinked quickly, startled by the direct nature of his accusation. She fumbled to feign ignorance. "Finding what - ?"

"Me!" he cried, barely allowing her to speak. "And him! I mean - " Rimmer's eyes screwed closed, as if even he were struggling to solve the riddle, " - me being him!" In the wake of her wordless reply, Rimmer continued to release the pressured build-up of steam that begged for release.

"Just tell me why it's so hard for you to accept," he demanded, his voice suddenly far harsher. "Why is it so smegging difficult to fathom that I might have changed? That I might have actually - I don't know - done something right for once in my life?"

Kochanski's eyes flitted left and right, as if to seek out the answer that she hoped would be hidden in his. Eventually, her gaze dropped to the deck. "I don't know," she whispered. It was the truth, and he clearly knew it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Rimmer dragged his hands down his face, growling into his palms. After a thoughtful pause, he peeled off the - yes, it had been a wig all this time – to run long, thin fingers through his curls, teasing them back into life once more. No. Gripping them with all his might as his pained eyes fell closed.

"Course not," he conceded with a resigned sigh, his tone tumbling back into the familiar realms of bitterness. "It seems I should be used to playing second fiddle by now. A second-class Arnold Rimmer and now a second-class Ace." A dismissive snort jetted down flared nostrils. "How on Io could I expect someone like you to understand?"

"For someone like me to understand?" Kochanski echoed, suddenly feeling more riled than she'd ever been. She felt the full sickening injustice of his throwaway statement thunder through her being, and her aggressiveness quickly took on its power.

"Why is it so difficult for _you _to fathom that you might not be the only person in the entire bloody cosmos who feels like they don't fit in?" she snapped back. "You're not the only one who doesn't quite belong here, you know. You of all people should know that."

Ten years it may have been, but the memories of those post-Tank months aboard _Red Dwarf _still resonated clearly in her mind. Rimmer had more than borne witness to the increasingly tense and awkward frustrations that had developed between her and Dave as the relentless, empty days ticked by. The fact that he wasn't _her _Dave. That she wasn't _his _Kris.

"Yes, I get it - you've got some bloody big boots to fill," she nodded sharply. "But you really think that you're the only one living in someone else's shadow? Trying to fathom in your mind how the hell this twisted existence works?"

She hardly noticed as her tone shifted - from direct, questioning accusation to self-pitying reflection. "Trying not to feel like you're just a substitute for someone else," she mumbled. "Trying to ignore the fact that even though they're looking right at you, they're not quite seeing you." She blinked rapidly. "Being made to feel like the lowest of the low just because you can't feel the same way they do?"

Rimmer didn't reply. But she sensed that, this time, he was merely unable to find the words.

"So what gives _you _the right to sit there and decide that I couldn't possibly understand?" she demanded. "Not know how it _feels _- "

She stopped as the once water-tight seal of her tone finally cracked - raw, undiluted distress seeping through.

Kochanski could sense his eyes flitting across her bowed face; like a child struggling to comprehend the complexity of emotion resonating from the person before them. Clearly, for him, there were still lessons to be learned in this strange, intricate notion known as empathy.

Eventually he spoke, but his offering did nothing to dispel the immaturity of the image.

"Cos it's my ship."

She glanced back up at him. Although the tone had resonated his usual, pouting possessiveness, something behind Rimmer's eyes flickered with understanding. A sincerity that could only be expressed through his own limitations of mocking humour.

Kochanski reacted the only way a person with eight cups of sugary tea and two hours sleep to their name possibly could. Her face split helplessly, collapsing into giggles. She swiped at the tears that had begun to sting the corners of her eyes. "You arsehole," she managed.

Rimmer regarded her wordlessly for a moment. But rather than the scathing comment she expected in return, his face softened slightly in a manner she'd only seen when they'd been trapped together back on the _SS Silverberg_. As if this expression rarely had the chance to surface above the hard, stony façade.

"You know what?" he said, regarding her earnestly. "When I managed to rescue you, I was almost glad that you didn't recognise it was me. It meant that I'd finally done it. That I'd managed to change. Become him."

Rimmer's eyes dropped to the array of gun components spread before him, suddenly appearing painfully self-conscious. "Then the others arrived and smeg-for-brains out there blew my cover." He rolled his eyes wearily. "Full of the usual insults I just knew he'd come out with."

Kochanski watched as he wiped away an invisible smear from the zealously-polished handle of the gun that lay in silent wait beside him.

"The annoying thing is, Lister was right. I wasn't perfect at this hero lark." His voice carried a bitter tinge at the edges as he snapped the magazines into place. "Hell, I was making mistakes left, right and centre." He grimaced. "As Rose seems to want to remind me ad infinitum."

Dredging up as sincere a face as was feasible, Kochanski shook her head. "Now that's not true," she soothed. "Rose does _not_ think you make mistakes left, right and centre."

_Click_. The slides snapped into place as Rimmer arched a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Okay, she did say you still make some," she relented.

Rimmer sighed, placing the loaded guns carefully on the table. "I lied to you, I admit," he nodded, reaching behind his chair to unhook the weaponry belt that had been slung on its back. "But it felt like if you believed the lie -" he paused to tear away his gaze, cheeks flaring red as his voice dropped to a mumble, " - it felt as if it was true for me too."

He slotted each gun with solemn reverence into their leather holsters, not able to look her in the face. Instead, his brow furrowed, pained.

"After two long smegging years, I was really beginning to think - " His mouth hung open, as if desperate to say the words. Instead he exhaled heavily, his tight-set characteristic frown making a swift return. "Forget it."

Kochanski watched as the hologram scraped back his chair before wandering dejectedly across to the bunk. She didn't seek for him to continue as he sank down to sit on the pristine sleeping bag; merely cast out her line into the ripples of thought and waited patiently. When he was ready to take the bait of silence, he would.

Indeed, he seemed to pause for a moment as if to seek the right words, before picking at the loose thread of a half-buried memory. A memory that - thanks to his nano-created existence - technically wasn't his, but clearly haunted him just as vividly.

"When I was about eight," Rimmer mused, "there was this horrible kid at school called Martin Riley." He shuddered almost imperceptibly at the mere mention of his name. "A real bully type. The sort of charming child who liked to ensure my head and the toilet bowl made acquaintance every morning at break-time."

"Oh, how awful," Kochanski clucked, although she wasn't entirely surprised. She could picture young Arnold - a lanky, pale specimen who was yet to grow into his awkward height and skinny face. A 'sitting duck' candidate for the butt of childish pranks.

Rimmer gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "Smeg happens," he surmised philosophically. "Anyway, once I was out of Io House, I told myself I was destined for greater careers than someone like Riley - a kid who was thicker than a banker's wad."

Kochanski curled back chilly bare toes against the metal of the deck, watching as he straightened with proud recollection. "I secured a sought-after spot on a mining ship, working my way up the chain of command. I was merely inches from becoming an officer, as you well know."

Biting back a smirk, Kochanski merely gave a slight nod. "Mm - " she added, non-committal.

Her amusement unnoticed, Rimmer continued. "So when I went back for the school reunion about six months before the accident, I was itching to rub it in Riley's face. And true to form, I overheard someone at the buffet table saying that even after fifteen years since leaving school, he was still pushing trolleys for a living."

Intrigue reeled her in. Snagged on her own line, Kochanski meandered towards him, hands tucked under her arms against the chill. "So did you speak to him?"

"I did," he nodded, although the conviction was no longer there. "But it was like the last fifteen years had never happened. I turned back into a gibbering wreck." Rimmer winced visibly, as if he could still hear the man's mockery. "He just laughed in my face and called me an idiot." His eyes sank closed with a ragged sigh. "God, I'd never felt so small in all my life."

Rimmer fell quiet for a moment. In the awkward silence that followed, Kochanski sank down to join him on the bunk.

"You go away and achieve so many great things," he muttered, as if to himself. "So many that you just know the people back home are going to be blown away by what you've become."

His brow pinched in resignation. "But when you're back?" Rimmer shook his head slowly. "It's like nothing's changed." His gaze dropped to the fingers tangled together between splayed knees. "It's like you're eight years old again."

Kochanski was no fool. She could read between the lines.

"Kris, I'm tired of playing him," he mumbled. "I want to be him."

"You _are _him."

Greeted by his trademark dismissive eyebrow as he leant back on the bunk, Kochanski released a sigh that teetered on exasperation.

"Look, you are a completely different person now," she asserted. "I can honestly say that the man who saved me from those GELFs was nothing like the one I used to know."

She could still recall the determination etched on his face as he single-handedly challenged the hooded tribe, head on. The fearless, yet calm and measured conviction with which he'd moved. How he'd reassured her through both words and actions, putting her instantly at ease. Making her feel safe when she'd needed it most.

"You'd become confident, and secure, and - " Kochanski fished for the word with open hands, " - caring."

Rimmer's startled eyes met hers. It was clearly an adjective he'd never heard used in previous descriptions of his personality. But sure enough, the flickered beginnings of another man sat intertwined in their depths, struggling to surface above the twisted mess of nerves and negativity.

"By asking you to get me back to my dimension, I didn't realise how much of a risk I was asking you to take," she explained. "Not just the dangerous, fool-hardy, 'ignoring inter-dimensional laws' part - " Kochanski fidgeted awkwardly, the heat of shame prickling the back of her neck. " - but the fact that I was asking you to choose sides. Decide where your loyalties lie." Biting her lip, her eyes flitted across the room, unable or unwilling to settle. "Hoping that Dave would never find out."

She could sense the internal struggle that raged behind his gaze as it sank to regard his boots. It was a choice he'd seemingly been able to make easily enough only hours before. But now it were as if the guilt of his decision had returned to haunt him in the curry-scented flesh.

"Thank you."

Rimmer nodded slowly. As before, his reply remained wordless.

"You _are _Ace." Kochanski's nod echoed his, the conviction developing slowly but surely. "I know you are."

Rimmer drew in a thoughtful breath before exhaling heavily, nostrils flaring wide. Eventually his eyes risked a sideways glance that she greeted with the flickering embers of a warm smile. She rubbed a reassuring thumb across the knuckles of the hand that rested on the bed beside her.

"But I get the feeling," she added carefully, "that it's not us that you have to convince."


	8. Misconceptions: part two

**Wow, thanks for the continued followings, loves and reviews. Seriously, you guys rock like seaside candy.**

**Two weeks until D-Day and I am working FURIOUSLY to release one more chapter after this before All Hell breaks loose. That's what we've decided to name her, you see...**

**Reviews make a hormonal, pregnant lady most happy. Thank you.**

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It was far too early in the morning for David Lister.

Mind you, anything before 12:30 in the afternoon would have been considered a rude awakening by the slothful Scouser. Any period of the day where you could still taste the toothpaste automatically logged in his diary as a premature start to the day's proceedings.

6am. He didn't even realise there _was _a 6am - a strange, ethereal time of the morning that hovered on the peripherals of myth. Surely 6am had been outlawed in medieval times on the grounds of cruelty to the working populace?

But it seemed that in Ace's line of work, the helpline had to be kept open 24/7. Indeed, the buzzing persistence of the comms alert on _Wildfire's _dashboard had roused him from an already uncomfortable sleep, curled up in the co-pilot's chair. Would it really have hurt the damsel in distress if she'd waited until a more reasonable hour to seek assistance?

It was then that he'd recognised the ship's ident code. The _SS Enlightenment_. If Rimmer had cracked open the _Risk _board or started quoting Space Corps Directives at those stuck-up sods, it was likely to be a deservedly desperate cry for help.

Slouching his way down the corridor towards Ace's sleeping quarters, Lister released a satisfying _crack _from his neck whilst simultaneously scratching at a persistent itch under his left armpit. He smiled happily to himself. Who says that men can't do two things at once - especially at this godforsaken hour?

But as he neared the open doorway, the chirpy grin began to sink down his cheeks as he gradually made out the hushed whispers of conversation.

"Promise me you won't tell him what we were doing, okay?"

"Kris, he has a right to know."

"It'd break his heart if he found out. Promise you won't say anything."

There was the hiss of a relenting sigh. "For now. He may have the brain capacity of a squashed maggot, but even Lister's going to work it out sooner or later."

Lister's mouth gaped open as he sank back silently from the doorway. A million and one assumptions tumbled freely through his mind, emotions rising and flaring up quickly. Sensing the self-destructive power of their creation, the rational part of his brain waded through the thick murk and piped up quickly.

Rimmer and Kris an item? That made about as much sense as a salad garnish on a mutton vindaloo - ridiculous, mismatched and nauseating to contemplate.

This surge of scoffery gave him an encouraging shove in the back, and before he knew it, he had stumbled into the light of the doorway to expose the ridiculous illusion with his own eyes. However, he hadn't quite counted on seeing the once-awkward pair now seated quite so close together on the double bunk. His stomach lurched as the pair's hands surreptitiously darted away from one another at his sudden presence.

Blinking his surprise, Lister's eyes quickly flitted away as if he'd seen something he shouldn't. In the strained silence that followed, Rimmer arched a confused eyebrow.

"Everything okay?" the hologram prompted.

"Looks that way." The words escaped as a mournful resignation before he could even reign them back in. His head bowed in comprehension.

"Sorry?"

With all the learned practice that comes with years of using chirpy optimism as a defence mechanism, Lister recovered quickly. An apologetic, snorting clear of the throat from behind his fist masked the pain flaring in his chest, preventing it from escaping in some semblance of verbal attack.

"Sorry, man. Way too early in the morning if you ask me," he fumbled, struggling to clamber back into the saddle. With lost eyes trailing across the scene before him, he managed to jab a vague thumb over his shoulder.

"We're gettin' some kind of SOS from the _Enlightenment_," he continued, fighting to even form the words. "Seems like your better half is already rubbin' them up the wrong way. Probably time to go fetch him before he cracks out the photo album of his favourite telegraph poles and sends 'em completely barmy."

Rimmer nodded, proffering his trademark clearing of the throat as he slipped his wig back on with visible awkwardness. Lister averted his gaze. The act seemed to be almost as private and personal as seeing someone undressing.

"Course," Rimmer coughed, his voice not quite sure which accent to follow. A forced chuckle spluttered forth as he stood before adding - "Some things never change, eh?"

Lister found himself barely capable of a polite sniff in return. "Once a bastard, always a bastard," he agreed pointedly.

Rimmer didn't reply. Clearly missing the meaning, his mouth simply curled at the corner in some semblance of a smile as he brushed past. Trailing in his wake, Kochanski self-consciously spooned back a stray lock of her hair before she too slipped past wordlessly.

Lister's cheery slap against the door-frame was a little more forceful than was called for as his fixed grin finally sank to dribble down his cheeks.

That back-stabbing, lying, poncing son of a smegging smegger.

So _that's _why Rimmer hadn't told Kris who he really smegging was. It had all been a massive ploy. A weasel of a plan wherein by giving her a dashing flick of his new-found wig and brandishing a gun of double-entendre proportions, he'd hopefully end up getting her in the sack.

_Well it worked, though. Didn't it, smeghead?_ Paranoia sneered. Confidence stayed silent - clearly away on some kind of business conference.

Waving the pale, thin face from his mind's eye, he cracked open the emergency can of Leopard Lager that he kept stashed in the inside pocket of his leather jacket and took a defiant _schlurp_. Well, if that's what the universe had dished up for good ol' David 'squashed maggot brains' Lister, then he could drink to that.

Yes, he was angry - after spending the last five years trying to find her, fawning over her absence, he'd been greeted with a reward akin to a slap round the face. But it felt like so much more than that. A far greater sense of resignation. After all the smeg that had been hurled in his direction and piled on top of him over the last few years, he was retaliating with a final, rebellious two-fingered salute to fate.

He stopped as he reached the doorway to the mid-section, shoulder casually slumped against the frame as he took another pull from his can. The crew had gathered to watch the woman with the red, coiffured hair on the vid-screen as she recounted her tale of woe from the _SS Enlightenment_.

Presumably Rimmer had resorted to the Morris dancing, judging by the grim looks on everyone's faces. Everyone apart from the Cat, who looked as though he were approximately two inches away from licking the screen in drooling admiration of the woman before him.

"Don't fret, Ms Crane," Rimmer nodded, confidence seeping from every sickening syllable. "We'll get this all wrapped up before tea time. You'll see."

Lister had secretly been enjoying a rather self-satisfying scenario - wherein Kris stood laughing derisively as Rimmer, bedecked in his wig, Ace-get-up and protective colander head-gear, cowered under the scanner table - when the familiarity of the name snared his attention.

"Hang on," he cut in, licking the foam from his lips. He frowned in concentration as he dredged up the name of both woman and ship from the murky depths of his mind before clicking them into place. "Crane?" he echoed, turning back to the screen. "As in Nirvanah Crane?"

The red-head's gaze darted briefly to Rimmer before returning to him. "That's right," she ventured.

Lister's eyes flitted across her features in appreciation before surprise tugged at his eyebrow. "Smeggin' hell, he weren't wrong," he muttered, his grin peppered with ill-concealed amusement.

Rimmer hadn't been lying. She was a little too starched and coiffured for his personal liking, but he had to admit that the lucky smegger had managed to get his leg over with a rather impressive specimen. At the group's bemused glances, Lister cleared his throat audibly, sincerity fighting for return.

"I mean, Rimmer's told me a lot about yer," he offered awkwardly. It was the only polite way he could put it, short of recounting the sordid detail of the hologram's drunken recollection of events.

There was a snigger from the Cat's direction, swiftly followed by a reprimanding elbow from the computer sprite beside him.

An embarrassed snort spluttered an escape before Nirvanah too cleared her throat. "Indeed," she nodded tightly, feebly conjuring an air of lofty abandon.

"Dave," Kochanski implored pointedly, clearly trying to spare the woman's blushes. "Now's really not the time, okay?" She was biting the tip of her thumb anxiously. "It seems that there's a bit of a situation regarding your Rimmer."

Lister blinked at her strangely - a look he didn't realise that the Rimmer across the room had subtly echoed. It were as if her choice of words had drawn lines in the sand, dividing up the territory of the group. By defining the original Rimmer as 'theirs', it were almost as if the latest Ace had been dragged across the fence to join her in some unspoken divide.

Sensing the uneasy air, Kryten stepped in quickly to elaborate. "It seems that the crew of a hologram war vessel known as the _SS Occassus _have taken Mr Rimmer, sir," he explained, flustered. Cubed fingers drummed nervously on his chest.

"According to Ms Crane, they plan to extract the hidden memory files from Mr Rimmer's database, effectively resurrecting him as Ace in order to - " The mechanoid's voice climbed three octaves of panic before trailing off silently in some mechanical parody of Stan Laurel. " - in order to - "

Rose patted Kryten reassuringly on the angles of his metallic shoulder plates. "In order to help them fight the simulants," she sighed wearily. "But it'll never work. His Ace files are hidden and stored safely up in his dormant memory banks." She tapped her temple with her forefinger in indication. "Under my lock and key, electronically speaking."

She rolled her eyes, less-than-subtly, as she added with a mutter under her breath. "Holograms and their bloody school-yard squabbles."

Thousands of years of existence had allowed the computer to bear witness to the never-ending war between the holograms and the simulants. The holograms' increasing arrogance and the simulants' vengeful bloodlust showed no signs of abating, but it was a tiresome tiff that an old, electronic life form such as herself was tired of having to steer clear of.

But Lister was far from appeased by the flippancy of Rose's reassurances. Indeed, he shared Kryten's sense of rising panic as he too remembered the fortune-teller's words back on the Trading Post. He could still recount the prophecy as clearly as the day he'd first heard it, the voice that gave it life shaking with fear.

_The forces at war will try and bring him back. He must not be allowed to return, or he'll be lost to the darkness and destroy everything and everyone in his path._

A far darker sense of sobriety seemed to smack him round the face. His stomach sunk in realisation as the pieces of the puzzle slotted into place. Perhaps his two-fingered salute had been a tad too cocky for fate's liking.

Lister wheeled back to Nirvanah's crackling image. "Why didn't you lot stop 'em taking him?" he demanded, his usual calm and relaxed approach having been dismissed on a cigarette break. "Don't you know what this means? The danger he's now in? The danger we're all now in?"

"Hey relax, buddy," the Cat cut in. He swept off the poppadom shards from Lister's jacket in some semblance of reassurance before swivelling back to the woman on the screen. "I'm sure you guys knew that Goalpost Head was old and ugly enough to take care of himself. Right, baby?"

Nirvanah shook her head despairingly, her eyes beginning to glimmer weakly with the dawn of tears. "I tried. I really did try - " she implored to Lister, all previous decorum now swiftly melting away.

Rimmer deliberately cleared his throat, reaching out surreptitiously for the comm's controls. "Er - bit of static on the line here, sweet-cheeks," he commanded in a voice smooth enough to plaster over the cracks of the blatant lie. "Half a mo."

Lister watched as the hologram stalled the link in static before rounding on him, aghast. "What the smegging hell do you think you're doing?" he reprimanded, the familiar nasal tone now back in play.

"Rimmer, you don't understand." Lister's eyes screwed closed, squeezing both temples between his thumb and fingers. He could almost feel the resounding thumps back and forth as the words of the prophecy bounced between them. "This is serious - "

"Too right this is serious!" Rimmer echoed. "The woman's contacting us on a hidden channel, for smeg's sake! She's just been warning us that the back-stabbing captain of hers was in on the whole deal of turning the smegger in." He shook his head, incredulous. "And you're stood there giving her a hard time over all of this? What on Io was she supposed to have done to stop it?"

Snared between the panic of the situation and his increasing resentment of the man before him, Lister frowned. "I don't smeggin' know!" he cried, flustered. "But she's the reason Rimmer was on that ship in the first place! After shagging him once, god knows how many years ago, she probably blind-sided him with the promise of a repeat smegging performance!"

"Lister - " Both Rimmer's voice and face were now buried in his hands, presumably fighting for both patience and the mind-power to forget the disturbing image of his alter-ego getting his leg over. "For once, can't you just stand aside and let me do my smegging job?"

A snort of disbelief jetted down Lister's nostrils. "Is that how you see this?" he baited angrily. "Your job?" He threw up his hands in disgusted frustration before clasping them behind his head. "Presumably a petty situation like this must be incredibly dull compared to your usual 9 to 5."

"At least one of us seems to know what the smeg they're doing!" Rimmer snapped back, thrusting a finger at the screen. "Not turning on vulnerable victims who have come to me for help! Funnily enough, I don't recall there being any mention in my years of in-depth training that I should be reprimanding those in need of assistance for getting into trouble in the first bloody place!" He folded his arms, mock-solemn in his recollection. "In fact, I'm fairly sure the manual covered it in the first chapter - "

Lister growled to himself. Rimmer couldn't see the urgency of the situation at all. For him, this was clearly just another day in the office. A chance to put on a show for the old crowd.

"Rimmer," he fired back tetchily. "If you're gonna insist on quotin' from '_The Idiot's Guide to Playing the Hero_' , I think you'll find - after your years of in-depth training – " he marked the mocking echo with air quotations, " - that this is a 'Crap Creek' situation."

The hologram scowled openly. "I think you'll find it's called 'professionalism', Lister," he ground out. "Look it up in the dictionary."

"Is it next to 'prick', by any chance?"

"Perhaps – " Rose leapt in quickly to halt the onslaught of venom that was sure to continue, " – Lister would be so kind as to explain what he means?" she prompted.

Lister wheeled back to face her, visibly shaking with the anger and panic that pulsed through his system. "He's not even listening, for smeg's sake - !"

"_I'm _listening."

The computer's voice clearly offered the authoritative yet reassuring tone that Lister needed to hear; the flares of the man's frustration calming long enough to pause and regard her evenly for a brief moment. But as her gaze flitted momentarily to the quivering of his hands before returning to his expectant stare, something horribly instinctive needled at her CPU. This was just the eye of the storm. Clearly something far greater, far darker, loomed on the horizon.

Despite the concern that instantly rippled through every electron of her being, Rose managed to keep the resulting flickers on her face to a minimum.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

The dark sparkle of Lister's eyes burned with so many words unsaid. "It's coming true," he mumbled, his voice crumbled at the edges. "Everything she said. It's all coming true."

Rose's eyes pinched in confusion. "Everything who said - ?"

"Ever since we crash-landed on that stupid smeggin' Trading Post, we've had to keep looking over our shoulder." Lister's words creaked with weeks of pent-up frustration. "First of all that smeggin' symbi-morph told Rimmer that he used to be Ace - "

Reeling silently at his words, the computer could barely focus on which of her own to voice first. "A symbi - ? _Told _- ?"

"And then this GELF fortune-teller said all these things to me," Lister continued, the gates now wide open for the confessions to spill forth. "Stuff she couldn't possibly have known."

He turned to Kochanski who was stood, dumb-struck at this sudden onslaught of admissions. His hand rose to her in gesture before falling to his side once more, defeated. "That I was looking for the woman I loved - "

Kochanski's eyes sank closed. She dipped her head to the floor.

Lister shook his head as he watched her before tearing away his gaze. "She told me we'd find Kris and BAM." He thrust out a finger at Rimmer. "She told me we'd find Ace and BAM."

His attention turned back to Rose, voice dropping low. As if speaking the words too loudly risked them being brought to life. "She warned us about Rimmer. She told us - she _knew - _that the holograms would try and bring him back as Ace."

Lister blinked quickly, reeling at the torrent that had spilled forth from his own mouth. "And that when they did, something horrible would turn him to darkness and make him destroy every one of us."

The last human watched as ancient eyes wordlessly searched his.

"Can you remember where this trading post was, Kryten?" Rose asked simply.

Kryten's face twitched surreptitiously before answering. "I'm not sure, ma'am," he replied. A computer she may be – an electronic equal – but he found her hologrammatic presence wrenched the need for a respectful term of address from his CPU. "It may take several hours, but I'm sure I could cross-reference our flight history from the navigation files on _Starbug _and – "

"Sector 32 – 67', 42', 101'."

With the shock that would inevitably follow hearing a 3-year-old suddenly recite Shakespeare, the group's attention whipped across to the Cat who stared back at them in equal surprise.

"Next to that wibbly, swirly thing," he added less certainly, clarifying his vague description of universe phenomenon with a twirl of his finger.

The group blinked twice.

"What?" he yowled in defence. In the stunned silence that followed, he leant to Lister in a whisper, the accompanying volume less-than-subtle. "I was kinda hoping we could head back there and pick up that mighty fine Blerion silk scarf I was showing you." He punctuated his plea with a winning double tug of the eyebrows.

With a roll of the eyes, Lister's gaze settled on the hologram stood wordlessly in the corner. He realised that Rimmer hadn't said anything for quite some time. In fact, with all the revelations of the past few minutes, he seemed to have retreated into a strange, unreadable silence.

With a long and protracted sigh, Lister gestured to him with a tilt of the head, as if to reel him back into the conversation. "So?" he prompted.

Hazel eyes searched the deck. "It was a Blerion."

"You what?"

Rimmer cleared his throat, his voice so shaken and creaky that it sounded like he hadn't used it in five years, let alone five minutes. "So, it was a Blerion prophecy?" he mumbled in clarification. The question itself, however, sank into the realms of resigned dread as his gaze wandered elsewhere. "A Blerion told you this was going to happen."

"Those cat GELFs?" Lister shrugged loosely as he recalled the fortune-teller's feline appearance. "Well, yeah." At Rimmer's continued silence, his brow furrowed as he tried to decipher the riddle. "Why? What does that mean?"

Rimmer barely registered the question. Instead, he continued to blink unsteadily as his mind meandered into the realms of dusty memories.

Blerions. A highly spiritual GELF race, who – under Tonga's unwavering guidance - had spent almost five months training him in the arts of combat and heightened mental control.

A GELF race whose gifts of foresight and prophecy were renowned and feared in equal measure across the universe. Indeed, the _Karahe o Whakaata – _the Mirror of Reflection - that sat in the great hall of the temple had already prophesised his fate. A fate that he'd been rather keen to forget. A fate that had shaken him so deeply, he'd refused to even divulge it to Rose.

But both halves of their prophecy - the part entrusted to Lister, and the part he'd been shown in the mirror - had finally slotted together into place. And now, it seemed, the clock had officially started ticking.

Rimmer swallowed, his throat sandpaper dry. "It means," he explained, fear seeping through the cracks of his voice, "that your 'Crap Creek' scenario analysis might be more accurate than I'd first given it credit for."

* * *

**Don't you just love that ol' saying? 'Shit just got real.**'


	9. A Simulant Interlude

**As you clever readers may have worked out from my sudden, less-than-conspicious disappearing act around four weeks ago, All Hell did indeed break loose. On 26th October at 2:33am to be precise.**

**As I didn't want to keep you lovely lot waiting too long for an update (plus ficcing is rather tricky when you're typing with just your left hand as you feed a newborn with the other) I've segmented off the opening of the next installment into a chapter of its own**. **Plus it's a nice way of building up the drama if you know what I mean ;-)**

**Dedicated to my little Evie bug. Mummy loves you very much.**

* * *

Watching the tiny, white 'blob' pulse chirpily across the scanner scope, Pizzak 'Rapp could only surmise, with a sneer of contempt, that holograms were indeed idiots.

An arrogant species never checks over its shoulder, he thought to himself. Probably why the _SS Occassus _was breezing along at a steady pace, blissfully unaware of the electronic eyes that were silently watching them.

Ironic, then, that simulants were also a species universally-renowned for their arrogance. But an arrogant race is invariably an ignorant race, and Pizzak was in no mind to accept that description of his proud people. In fact, any species that had previously dared to intimate such a claim had been swiftly wiped off the face of the cosmos before the insult could be so much as retracted with a polite cough.

Come to think of it, that was another trait both holograms and simulants shared. Short tempers.

Which is probably the main reason why the war between their races had dragged on for so long. Shame, really. If both sides had been patient enough to sit down over a pot of tea and some Jammy Dodgers and spend just five minutes settling their differences, they may very well have discovered that there were none after all.

Even the legendary Ace Rimmer - the multi-verses' answer to an Agony Aunt - had grown tired of playing referee in their squabbles. Instead, the adventurer had been relegated to tidying up the mess afterwards, coming to the rescue of the poor, innocent species who became caught up in the destruction that their battles left behind.

In the last decade or so, he'd only deigned to step in once. And that particular debacle had resulted in one stolen Jadestone and a crew of vengeful simulants who had hounded Ace for almost ten years in order to secure its return.

It had been a violent and relentless pursuit. One that had destroyed them all in the end.

But unlike his alternative counterpart, the Pizzak native to this dimension had reverted to a far different approach in his hunt for the hero. His humiliating defeat in the battle for Filitus 12 almost two years previously had brought out a far darker and more sinister need for revenge. Instead of wasting energy on the chase, he was far more content to weave a web and wait - still, silent and patient - until his nemesis walked right into his trap. An unsuspecting little fly helplessly entangled in his clutches.

Indeed, Ace Rimmer had been the main inspiration behind the conception of the holovirus that had thus far crippled the crew of the _SS Occassus_. The destruction and removal of the holograms' best soldiers had merely proven to be a helpful bi-product. Once the virus had claimed its intended victim, Pizzak's long wait would be rewarded not only with the destruction of his arch-enemy, but the resulting creation of the most dangerous weapon the universe had ever witnessed.

And much to Pizzak's delight, they'd struck lucky a few days previously when records from the derelict _SS Constantine_ showed that the virus had been successfully downloaded into a hologrammatic being registered as 'Rimmer'. The celebration on the _SS Orion _had spared no expense, resplendent with party blowers and those little cocktail umbrellas that had been gathering dust in the back of the galley cupboard.

But it seemed that the champagne had been cracked open a tad prematurely. During their subsequent surveillance of the _SS Occassus_, they'd picked up dribs and drabs of information that seemed to suggest that, for some strange reason, Ace Rimmer no longer had any recollection of who he was. Too much brain-power spent working on his hair-do, perhaps.

And worse still, the legend of Ace continued to live on in the form of another hologram, ensuring that the universe suffered no interruption in service when it came to smug-gittery.

The holovirus had infected Ace Rimmer. Just not the right one. The hero had slipped the net, leaving the dud pathetically entangled in their trap.

Needless to say, Pizzak was not overly amused.

The simulant snarled over his shoulder, jagged teeth bared. "You'd better have some better news for me, M'Aiden," he snapped. His face clouded as he turned back to the dashboard, metallic claw-like nails dragging a squealing path down its surface. "An update that doesn't make me want to test out our new laser cannons on the nearest populated planetoid."

M'Aiden's eyes trailed through the readouts that poured through from the hacked black box of the _Occassus_. "It seems that the holograms intend to repair the poor bugger's memory files," he recounted. A thoughtful finger tapped against his lips before a grin as garish as Blackpool Illuminations slid out from behind it. "We might not have missed the proverbial boat after all."

Pizzak blinked his surprise, mentally unpacking the party balloons once more. "You're certain?"

"Oh, yes." M'Aiden glanced up, an oily grey tongue snaking out, unawares. "Once their systems restore his memories, the holovirus will have full access to everything it needs." The simulant chuckled with delight. "Not long until you've got yourself a little apprentice there, my friend."

"Excellent," Pizzak breathed, turning back to the scanner scope to survey the white 'blob' once more. "Because I have a rather long 'to-do' list for the - " he paused, a thin smile stretching across his face, " - _ever-charitable Ace Rimmer."_


	10. Severed Ties

**Thanks ever so much to all of you lovely readers for the kind messages and well-wishes following the birth of my daughter - very much appreciated. In return, I worked hard (and often one-handed!) to get this next chapter written and uploaded!**

**Merry Christmas everyone.**

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Rimmer sighed for the fourth time that morning. "On the one hand, we have a man with a proven track record in dealing with intergalactic hostage situations. And on the other, we have a man who couldn't negotiate his way out of a can of lager." He tapped a thoughtful finger against his lips. "Now, remind me again why you think _I _should stay and _you _should go?"

Crawling his way through the dark ducts of the _SS Occassus_, Lister scowled at the memory. His brain had fished through a thousand and one reasons why, but refused to pin a single one down. Maybe because he wanted to prove to the haughty hologram that he wasn't the only one who had changed over the last two years. Or perhaps because he had a horrible suspicion that Rimmer and Kris would appreciate some free 'bunk-up' time.

"Because it's my fault we're in this mess," he'd confessed, face grim. "If I'dve been straight with Rimmer from the start - told him the truth about who he was when he asked me straight out - none of this would've happened."

Rose's face bunched in sympathy. "That's not true," she reassured. "In Ace's game, retirement is always a far more dangerous end than dying. If anyone's to blame here, it's me for letting it happen."

"Excellent, good to know." Rimmer folded his arms, eyebrow raised. "I feel comforted by the prospect that my job will eventually be terminated with my P45 tacked to my coffin."

"Rimmer, I'm serious. You've gotta stay," Lister implored. "Getting 'im back is gonna be too risky for the likes of Kris to tag along." He grimaced. "Let's face it. This jaunt's gonna be about as safe for a woman as a night at the Bates' Motel."

Sensing Rimmer's wavering uncertainty, Lister shot him a meaningful look. If the smegger had laid claim to Kochanski, he damn well needed to keep to the responsibilities that came with it.

"I need you to stay and look after her, man," he said, voice low with sad resignation.

Lister shuffled through the darkness, blindly feeling out his route. An enlightened 23rd Century guy he may be, but he was a traditionalist at heart. Near-suicidal rescue missions were no place for a lady.

"David Lister, that is the second time that your arm has 'accidentally' brushed against my bottom." Despite the cramped conditions, Nirvanah still craned back over her shoulder to shoot him a reproachful frown. "Please ensure it's the last."

Fine - _almost _any lady. Women who were already dead didn't count.

"Pardonez-moi," he offered sarcastically, his Scouse accent snagging on each perfectly-crafted French syllable. "But believe it or not, I don't really enjoy squeezing up against yer, y'know." Swallowing back the lump of claustrophobia that sat thick in his throat, he blinked at his words. "Part of me feels like I may regret sayin' that later."

"Well I'm afraid we have little choice," Nirvanah sniped back. "I've been locked out of the ship's access codes and my profile has been logged as 'arrest on sight'." She heaved a sigh. "The only hope we have of getting into this godforsaken ship is sneaking in through the back door, so to speak."

Pulling out the electronic mapping device from her pocket, she regarded it carefully. "Only a few hundred feet further starboard and we'll reach the Hologram Simulation Suite." She shook her head, her features set firm. "It's bound to be where they're holding Arnie captive."

"_Only _a few hundred feet," Lister echoed weakly.

With a visible shudder, he glanced back to the screeching sounds of metal on metal that echoed in the distant darkness. It seemed that the duct was proving a tad small for the mechanoid's broad shoulders.

"How you doin' back there, Krytes?" he called.

"Oh absolutely peachy, sir," came the chirpy, echoed reply. "Rest assured, although on first glance it may appear to be a botch-job, I've successfully managed to detach and re-attach my arms on at least two previous occasions in my run-time." There was a doubting pause. "And if all else fails, I did bring along my instruction manual for your perusal."

Lister closed his eyes and adopted the relaxation techniques the hapless mechanoid had once taught him. If he was going to meet his maker this way, he was at least semi-grateful his head would lay to rest on a woman's arse.

"Trust me, Mr Lister. Third time is certainly not the charm."

* * *

The sweat stood out cold on Rimmer's brow, sliding round the electrodes strapped to his temples.

The numerous voices were muffled beyond the thick glass of the chamber that held him, but he clearly understood their intent. This was - as they say - it. The last dribbles of doubt that this was all some kind of sick joke were currently gurgling noisily down Satan's own plug-hole.

Rimmer tried to swallow back the ticklingly hot lump of panic that was clawing up his throat. The premise that he had once been Ace was now frighteningly plausible, and yet he wasn't sure which unnerved him more. How or why he'd forgotten something so huge? Or the niggling thought that Lister had known the truth all along.

Increasingly desperate, he rapped fervently on the glass, trying to snare someone's attention.

"Erm - hello?" He blinked at the timid voice that squeaked forth in place of the authoritative confidence he'd been aiming for. "I - uh - " He licked away dry lips. "I was rather hoping that perhaps I could first exercise my right to consultation with the top point of authority as per Section 495? Maybe?"

Deep down, he knew that the crew would be as receptive to the detailing of Space Corps Directives as Lister during an ear-bleeding guitar session. But he couldn't help but wonder why their behemoth of a Captain - who had once been watching over the preparation proceedings with the glee of a Cheshire cat - was now so conspicuously absent. Some lower-ranked minion had scuttled in some five minutes earlier, nervously calling him to some urgent business in the Drive Room. And now Rimmer's silent hope that his absence would halt proceedings had been quashed with all the force of a fly underneath that morning's rolled-up newspaper.

He smiled winningly - a rarely-used expression that was still brushing off moth balls as it was dragged forth, unprepared, into conscripted service. "I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement," he smarmed. "Perhaps over some tea and - ?"

_CRRRRREAAAAAAAAKKKK_

Rimmer's eyes slowly tracked up to the strange, strained noise overhead, his polite offer flailing. " - biscuits of some descrip- ?"

_CRRRRREAAAAAAAAKKKK_

" -tion?"

A series of loud CLANGS sounded from the ceiling across the suite, snatching the attention of the crew. There was a tantalising pause before a long stretch of overhead panels crashed to the floor as an entire section of service duct pierced through the ceiling, splitting neatly in two. Two squealing figures - one limb-challenged mechanoid and a short, dumpy human clad in leather - plummeted to the deck, the mangled metallic remains of the duct following in quick, clattering succession.

Rimmer blinked twice in shock as Lister glanced up and stared out across the room - eyes wide like a rabbit trapped in headlights. Everyone in the room, equally flummoxed, stared back.

Silence held the suite in an icy grasp. An awkward cough sounded from one of the console operators somewhere near the back of the room.

Eventually, Kryten proffered a gesturing shrug, smiling brightly. "I don't suppose I could borrow a screwdriver, sirs?" he probed.

The slap of Nirvanah's palm against her H-emblazoned forehead was audible even from the dark depths of the open duct above.

* * *

"You're absolutely sure?"

Rose's brilliant mind calculated that she had precisely 1,452 smart-arse replies to that particular question. Yet she plumped for an old favourite nonetheless.

"No," she huffed. "I thought I'd just tell you that the scanner scope had picked up on a simulant vessel heading towards the _Occassus_ for a laugh." She thrust her hands on her hips, mirroring his trade-mark scowl. "Of course I'm bloody sure!"

Rimmer swallowed. "And we definitely can't get a message to them to abandon ship and get the hell out of there?"

"Their comms link is down," Rose sighed. "Probably interference from the _Occassus's _own communications wavelengths." She sauntered back into the cockpit, calling over her shoulder. "Unless anyone's got a carrier pigeon or is fantastic at long-distance semaphore, then we're kinda screwed."

Rimmer's eyes darted right and left as they searched the deck, clearly torn. On the one hand, if he left Kochanski to warn Lister and the others about the incoming simulants, he was potentially putting her safety at risk.

But there was a flip side of this rather undesirable coin. If he stayed to protect Kochanski and left the _Occassus _defenceless, Lister and the others could be caught in the middle of a very nasty scuffle between the holograms and the simulants in their quibble over his predecessor.

For the last few minutes, Kochanski had been gnawing nervously at the tip of her thumb, silently worrying over Lister and what could befall him if left to the simulants' rage. Yet the cogs in Rimmer's mind were so audible, even she could hear them from across the mid-section.

"Don't worry about me," she assured quietly. "You need to go. I know you want to."

Rimmer shifted in agitation from one foot to the other. "It's not that simple," he exhaled. "It's not just the simulants I'm not chummy with. The holograms aren't exactly on my Christmas card list either." He dismissed Kochanski's puzzled look with a wave of the hand. "Politics," he surmised, "with far too much boring history."

Crossing to the table, he scuffed his boot against the grating of the deck. "It's a moot point anyway," he recalled reluctantly. "Lister told me to stay with you."

His set tone intimated closure on the discussion. However, it clearly wasn't a decision he agreed with, Kochanski realised with a sideways glance. She watched in amusement as Rimmer's fingers twitched, drumming against his thigh as if to channel the energy that coursed within.

"Oh, please! Don't give me that," she snorted, dismissive eyes tracking him as he crossed to the doorway once more. "You're only pacing up and down with a pout you could lay a table on because you've been told to stay indoors whilst the other boys get to play outside."

Rimmer's feathers visibly ruffled at her words but he said nothing in return. Good to know she still remembered how to push his buttons.

"If you want to go then go," she pushed. Treating him to a raised eyebrow, Kochanski drew out the big guns. "Besides, since when did you ever do anything that Lister told you to do?" she prodded.

Although the sense of triumph bubbled under the surface, she kept the resulting ripples on her face to a minimum. She was dangling a carrot Rimmer couldn't refuse and she knew it.

There was a moment of bemused silence as Rimmer simply stared back at her. The drumming paused thoughtfully, as if to allow him the stillness to consider her words, before a wicked grin spread across his face. Arnold had gone. Ace had returned.

"Rose - I better dash," he called through to the cockpit, eyes still locked with hers. Rimmer tore away his gaze to swivel back to the table behind him and snatch up his gun belt. He snapped it on with a rather suspicious enthusiasm. "A rather important appointment has just popped up."

The computer sprite quickly appeared in the doorway, grasping onto the frame so tightly she risked its warranty. "With the holograms?" she cried despairingly before striding back into the mid-section to face him. "Ace, you've been dodging their forced recruitment drive for decades and now you're planning on strolling through the front door?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." Rimmer drew forth a crude teleporter from his utility belt and began typing in commands, calibrating the necessary coordinates. "More like sneaking in through the back window, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm sure he'll be careful, won't you?" Kochanski prompted, realising that his sarcasm wouldn't be the best way of reassuring the ever-twitchy computer.

Deliberately fiddling with the calibrations in feigned concentration, Rimmer offered nothing to confirm or deny the reassurance. It was a truth he daren't utter out loud, even to himself. The thrill of this new life was so dangerously exhilarating that he sometimes wondered what the hell he was doing. Playing with fire was far too fun. It was like a drug he'd dabbled in at first but now couldn't give up.

After all, if you knew how it was all going to end, you might as well enjoy the ride.

Unnerved by his silence, Kochanski swiftly continued. "And besides, if I'm supposedly in such desperate need of a nanny, you and Cat can stay behind with me - " she glanced back over her shoulder to the faithful feline, " - right?"

Not shifting from his reclined napping position in the swivel chair, the Cat peeled open a single, lazy eyelid. "No worries, Officer BB," he replied smoothly. "As long as I don't have to crease my suit, cut short any meals or interrupt my nap-time, then I can be at your beck and call."

"Yeah, thanks Cat," Kochanski replied flatly.

Rose's critical gaze flitted between each of them in turn. Eventually, she turned back to face the hologram and sighed her relent. "For goodness sake, don't let them catch you."

Rimmer grinned. Her mother-hen-clucking was the closest he would get to a blessing. "Don't fret, my dear," he assured. Flipping back his gun, he snapped in a new magazine. "Should the need for negotiation arise, you know I can be most _persuasive._" He loaded his gun with a less than subtle click.

Rose rolled her eyes, arms folded. "Something tells me you're not referring to your oral skills."

She flashed him a reproachful eyebrow as Rimmer shoulder-bumped her playfully, a suggestive wink not far behind it. "I've never had any complaints about my - "

"Get gone!"


	11. Rimmer's Return: part two

**Happy 2012 peeps! Hope you had a good Christmas/New Year. My husband just beta'd this chapter and concluded - 'It's good. How long did this chapter take you?' Answer - twenty months from original draft. TWENTY MONTHS - almost to the day! Ugh... Well I certainly hope it's been worth it, folks! ^_^ **

**The full appreciation for this chapter probably relies rather heavily on part III of the Ace Chronicles - '124 Days'. So we'll kick off with a little flash back, shall we?**

**As always, many thanks to all of you who are continuing to follow this fic. Reviews are always appreciated. Thank you.**

* * *

_There was a hush that hung thick in the air between them; a horribly muggy silence that Rimmer had to swallow before he even felt capable of speech._

_"He said you know my fate," he managed eventually. A pause, and then, "Is that what's going to happen to me?"_

_Tonga heaved a weary sigh. "What the mirror shows us isn't always literal. It might not come to pass," he offered gently._

_Rimmer brushed a light hand against the mirror's surface before letting it fall into his lap once more. The glass was cold._

_In the quiet that followed, Tonga dipped his head low so that his face was obscured in shadow, as if contemplating something, before regarding Rimmer in the mirror once more._

"_Sometimes our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate," he explained quietly. "Sometimes our greatest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."_

**- Chapter 4: Month Three, '124 Days', The Ace Chronicles**

* * *

Science Officer McCloud was not a happy camper. In fact, he'd had the week from Satan's own Filofax.

Following his virus scan screw-up earlier in the week, he'd almost been ejected from the company. Through the nearest airlock. Suffice to say he didn't have the most understanding of bosses.

He had to get back into Viktoras's good books and fast. A tall order when Viktoras's good books were often locked in the basement of a library. Based in Guam. Surrounded by a moat of molten lava.

And if the pressure wasn't already enough, this armpit stain of a man seemed hell-bent on making his task a thousand times harder.

"Let me just make sure I'm understanding you correctly," he demanded, less-than-patient. "You break onto this vessel without invitation or a valid pass, destroy the infrastructure to our Hologram Simulation Suite causing incalculable damage, and you insist that I _listen _to you?"

Lister bit his lip, a limp shrug not far behind it. He had to admit, it sounded worse when the guy summed it up like that.

McCloud scowled in annoyance, sending his glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them back up into place with a long finger. "Well, I can hardly argue with a reasoning as articulate as that," he sniffed.

Seeing Rimmer held captive in such a cold, clinical environment - trapped behind glass like a rare butterfly specimen - was enough to send the bile rising in Nirvanah's throat. It was an aggressively protective urge she'd never felt before, and it soon found its voice.

"Course not," she spat. "After all, I've heard that you're a man who has a way with words." Her lip curled in disgust. "Saying whatever's necessary to brown-tongue your way up the ranks."

McCloud's lanky form stiffened visibly. He glared down at her petite frame. "Commander Crane, I think you'll find that there's a warrant on the system for your immediate arrest." He jutted his chin in what he hoped would be an authoritative manner. "And I'm sure you know all too well that protocol demands - "

"Oh, screw protocol!" Nirvanah snapped back, her flippancy surprising even herself. She'd become increasingly disillusioned with the holograms' penchant for petty arrogance and was rapidly losing patience for it. "If you wish to have any hope of surviving your shift, I'd suggest you listen to what he has to say."

McCloud's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me, Commander?"

"She isn't," Lister cut in. Craning to see over the Officer's tall shoulder, he nodded at the glass chamber. "But he is."

Rimmer couldn't quite make out their muffled conversation beyond the glass, but his resulting bemused expression clearly inspired mocking glee in the Science Officer before him.

"Are you serious?" McCloud snorted as he turned back to face them, lanky arms folding in amusement. "He looks as intimidating as a bunny rabbit wearing a ribbon embroidered with the word 'Boo'."

"Listen, I know he doesn't exactly look like he's capable of anything now," Lister pressed. "But trust me. If you unlock those memory files, you're gonna wish you'dve pulled a sicky this mornin'."

Lister squirmed under the weight of McCloud's derisive eyebrow. Problem was, he didn't know exactly _how _Rimmer was going to pose a threat to them all. For all he knew, the smegger could draw forth the Space Corps Directives Manual and bore them all to death. But somehow, he got the sense that the soothsayer would have been a little less concerned about warning him of such a mundane scenario.

A persistent buzzer sounded from the comms console behind McCloud who heaved a sigh of relief at its welcome interruption.

"Enough of this tot," he huffed. The hologram gestured in irritable indication to the officer at the main control panel as he strode back to scoop up the receiver. "Begin Mr Rimmer's virus scan. We need to get this show on the road. "

Nirvanah strained to listen as McCloud conducted his radio conversation in hushed tones. A softness that could have been mistaken for the delicacy with which one whispers to a lover. She shuddered. If the speaker in question didn't have the sexual appeal of a pubic louse.

She felt the subtle dig from Lister's elbow and leaned in conspiratorially.

"Virus scan?" he hissed.

The redhead glanced up from under dark eyelashes at McCloud's back before flitting back to Lister. "The _Occassus _was recently plagued by a holovirus that was picked up on a derelict scouting mission," she whispered. "Supposedly of simulant concoction."

She paused quickly as McCloud half-turned back to them. His own whispered conversation seemed to be becoming more agitated and urgent.

"According to rumours amongst the crew, they lost five of their best men to it," Nivanah continued. "Reports suggested that the virus completely changed them. Rendered them so vengeful and murderous that they even turned on their fellow crewmates." She shook her head sadly. "Probably the reason that they're being so cautious with any new holograms coming aboard."

Lister opened his mouth to speak, but his jaw could offer nothing but a loose silence in response. The cold weight that had sat on his shoulders since he'd first heard the prophecy now began to sink down the back of his neck like melting ice. Slow, relentless and chilling.

What if Kryten's suspicions had been bang on? That Rimmer's increasingly odd behaviour hadn't been caused by a file corruption issue, but a holovirus. A simulant-created holovirus.

_He must not be allowed to return. Or he'll be consumed by darkness and destroy everyone and everything in his path._

A simulant-created holovirus that had been trying to needle its way into Rimmer's locked 'Ace' memory files for several days now.

Lister glanced across to the line of technicians at the control panel, blinking unsteadily as they pummelled away at their keyboards.

The holograms weren't just going to _risk _the virus breaking into those files. They were going to open the door, invite it in and stick the bloody kettle on.

Smeg. With a fresh dollop of smeg on top and an extra order of smeg on the side.

"Code red! I repeat, code red!" McCloud suddenly blurted out to the room, thrusting down the receiver. It missed the hook by a good five inches and fell to hang, lifeless, by its cord. "Simulant craft sighted approximately 20 clicks away!"

Securing the last screw attachment of his shoulder joint into place, Kryten glanced up happily to share the success of his DIY attempt with the others. However, his plastic features soon fell as he took in the chaos that now took hold of the room; holograms scrabbling in all directions to prepare the ship's systems for battle.

"Simulants?" Nirvanah grimaced. It had only been a matter of time before petty recriminations threatened to nip them in the derriere. "Ugh, perfect timing - "

"I'm afraid it is, ma'am," Kryten uttered quietly, rotating his re-attached arm in experimental assessment. At her look of confusion, he elaborated. "Simulants may be as aggressive as the stains on Mr Lister's gussets after curry night, but they are certainly not fools." He nodded in distant comprehension. "They always select their timings most wisely."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, ma'am, that they're not attacking."

Nirvanah watched as the mechanoid's neon-blue eyes flitted about the walls in indication. He was right. Despite the wails of the emergency sirens, there was no audible sign of laser fire against the ship's hull.

Kryten's face was suddenly grim. "They're waiting."

Rasta plaits danced from side to side across his back as Lister shook his head, confused. "Waiting for what - ?"

He stopped dead as the realisation slapped him round the face. The plaits gave their grand finale, leaping gracefully over his shoulder as Lister whipped back to the glass chamber. Rimmer stood in quivering silence, eyes reflecting his fear.

"Oh no - " he breathed.

"Status report, O'Brien!" McCloud barked, trying to snatch eye contact in between the various crewmembers that darted back and forth between them. "Do we have the all-clear for the file unlock?"

Eyes as green as his native homeland flitted over the reams of data that streamed before him. "Virus scan comes up clean, sir!" O'Brien chirped, his Dublin accent strong. "Ready when you are."

No. Lister shook his head but the word refused to escape. No, this couldn't happen.

McCloud nodded his gratitude, pushing up stray glasses once more. At least there'd be no more cock-ups on his shift, he thought to himself as he began typing away furiously at his keyboard. "Preparing for memory download!"

"No!" The cry finally found its release as Lister scrabbled across to join McCloud at the console. "The virus scan is wrong!"

McCloud's lofty hand batted away the warning, like a fly he could barely be bothered to swat at. "Will someone get him out of here?" he sighed. "He's really beginning to test my patience."

As two burly security guards closed in, Lister pressed on hurriedly. "You don't understand!" he pleaded. "He's been showing all the early signs of a holovirus. Memory loss, funny turns, you name it."

"Absurd," McCloud snorted. "Our scans have just showed up clean."

Kryten quickly joined them. "It's a sentient virus, sir. Highly intelligent," he explained. "Indeed, we too were given the same result from our own virus scan. But it's quite plausible that the virus has been lying dormant in Mr Rimmer's memory files, only exploring new pathways in his core programme when we weren't scanning for it."

"It's true," Lister implored. "He may look like a weedy smegger now, but the virus knows that there's a goldmine of potential locked away in there from his time as Ace."

Bear-like arms secured a tight grip around his chest and Lister struggled to free his arms. "For smeg's sake, if you unlock the Ace files you'll give the virus exactly what it wants!"

McCloud growled audibly. "The simulants are practically on our doorstep, threatening to destroy us all and HE," the hologram thrust a finger at Rimmer's look of confused panic, "harbours the capability to become our main defence weapon!" McCloud's face hardened with resolve. "I don't have time for this - "

Lister threw back his entire bodyweight, kicking out his boots in desperation. "No, man, don't!"

McCloud hit 'Return'.

The effect was almost immediate. Rimmer cried out in agony, wrenching his hands back from the glass to press hard against his ears; a desperate attempt to block out a million voices screaming out to him in hundreds of languages, all at once. A ten-year rush of images and sounds blasted through his mind like a tidal wave, smashing through everything he'd once known with little regard for the damage it would leave behind.

Rimmer blinked quickly as he fought to suck in air, vision pulsing. The rush had now slowed enough to snatch hold of individual memories.

_Sprawled on his back to soar on a drug-fuelled high with the Kinitowawi, revelling in the warmth of the roaring fire and the laughter between them._

_Screwing Sayura, fast and furious. His chest heaving hot in exhilaration at the inter-species experimentation and the risk of being caught. Her husband could be home any minute…_

_The crowds of Galactic Bazaar parting in reverence to let him through as he strode through the streets, eight simulants lying defeated in his wake._

"It's true," Rimmer gasped to himself. "It's all true - " A jet of air snorted down cavernous nostrils as he tried to straighten once more, tangled in a disconcerting web of disbelief and pride. The rush felt far superior to his dream of becoming an officer. He was a _hero_.

Oh, yes. Such were the glory moments of playing the part of the legendary Ace Rimmer.

But watching and waiting in the wings of this theatrical production, the virus had no interest in such frivolity. Instead, it probed on until snagging on something most intriguing. A half-forgotten line of script that still seemed branded in the dark shadows of the hologram's mind.

_Ten months, three weeks, four days. One-thousand, three-hundred and thirty-two._

Rimmer blinked in shock, an involuntary shudder worming its way through his body.

_Ten months, three weeks, four days. One-thousand, three-hundred and thirty-two._

Oh, god. He could hear their screams. Their faces were haunting.

_One-thousand, three-hundred and thirty-two. _The lives that had been lost on the _Exodus Colony_. Because of him.

_Ten months, three weeks, four days. _His time in purgatory. The relentless, destructive self-punishment for not saving them.

The realisation sank through his very being and thudded to the pit of his stomach, its intensity almost unbearable.

"I'm so sorry," Rimmer mumbled, jaw trembling uncontrollably. "I tried. I tried so hard - "

The virus ploughed on hungrily, gorging wildly on this feast of negativity. Savouring the anger and the self-loathing until it snagged on something equally delicious. The memory of a man's face.

Still locked in the guard's grasp, Lister could see the face just as clearly on the monitors above them. He'd been struggling to comprehend the furious flicker of images as the memory visuals relentlessly uploaded, yet now they focused intensely on this one man. Not much younger than him, his wheat-coloured hair and clear green eyes looked disconcertingly familiar.

He glanced back to the chamber as Rimmer thumped angrily on the glass between them. His image was beginning to corrupt at the edges, flickering furiously as it flitted between brown curls and blonde locks.

"Liar!" he howled, eyes flaring with accusation. "You promised you wouldn't let me forget him!" Sobs now wracking his chest, he pressed his forehead into the glass with such vindictive force, Lister swore it could shatter. "How could you let me forget him?"

Lister shook his head, confused. "Forget who?" he cried out over the alarm's din.

His head threatened to explode with the guilt. His own son. How could he forget his own son?

"Rimmer, forget who?"

"Forget the bloody interrogation!" McCloud snapped. "He needs to concentrate on recalling his battle skills and fast." He pushed up his wayward glasses once more and gestured to the guard restraining Lister. "Seriously, why isn't he in the brig yet? Somewhere where he can bore the walls with his incessant interruptions?"

O'Brien swallowed, throat suddenly sandpaper-dry. The reams of text from the memory download were becoming more frantic and distorted. "Erm, McCloud, sir - ?" he probed.

Rimmer glanced up shakily. The grey, hooded figure stood amongst the crowd, unnoticed. He'd appeared precisely when he'd meant to. And some part of him knew that he was already expecting his arrival.

Hands still pressed to the glass, Rimmer watched wordlessly as the figure approached; apprehensive in its step but with determined purpose. Transfixed, he froze as it stood before him, pausing for a moment before reaching up to draw back its hood. The face was now free to stare at him in wordless awe.

It was himself.

And in that surreal, paradoxical moment, he remembered. Rimmer almost gagged. He _remembered_.

Tonga. Blerios 5. He remembered it all; images and sensations now tumbling on top of him.

_The markets, the temple, the heat, the sand, the sweat, the training, the pain, the fights, the falls, the mirror…._

He fought to breathe, his mind catching on the last memory like the needle skipping on a record player.

_The mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror, the mirror…_

"McCloud, sir?" O'Brien muttered, more insistently now. His eyes refused to tear away from the screen. "I think something's wrong - "

Rimmer struggled to swallow. This was it. This is what he'd seen all those years ago. His terrifying fate laid bare before him in the guise of a dark and twisted image of his future self.

The mirror's prophecy was coming true. Now, he _was _the reflection.

And having found exactly what it was after, the virus finally showed its face.

Rimmer's mind suddenly seemed to explode with a blast of black stars that faded just as quickly, leaving behind a sparkle of tingles that felt bitterly cold. It was too strange a sensation to put into words, but something deep down - probably the core part of his electronic being - knew that something was incredibly wrong.

Trembling fingers scrabbled desperately to tear off the electrodes once fastened to his temples. But the damage had already been done.

Rimmer shuddered as the strangle tingles started needling throughout his body. Letting the electrodes drop to the floor, he held out his arms in inspection. An icy chill crept up his spine as he watched the shimmering blue material of his sleeves stain a sinister shade of black. As if the darkness he could feel in his mind was seeping through his clothing, his very image bleeding shadow.

There was nothing human about the _thing _he could feel crawling through his system; overriding every file, memory, and electrode it could find. He could sense it feeding and thriving on every base thought, every dark memory, every negative emotion that peppered his psyche, deleting everything it deemed to be worthless.

Friendship. Forgotten.

Love. Erased.

Mercy. Obliterated.

The pain was overwhelming, writhing through his body showing little clemency. With distressed static rattling his mind, Rimmer fought to stay calm. He had to concentrate. He had to stay focused on remembering who he was. He had to…

Ooh. This was beginning to feel rather _good._

Rimmer bathed in the exhilarating rush that this new-found freedom was slowly bestowing upon him. His eyes peeled open, snorting with derision at the scene before him. Did these holograms truly think that they could harness his abilities? Reduce him to nothing but a pawn in their squabbling war against the simulants? Pitiful.

He was single-handedly accomplished at overthrowing dictators and defeating empires. Once they knew what he was capable of, they'd be trembling at his very name. Oh, he'd be sure to make them pay for this humiliation. Rimmer's face darkened. He'd make them _all _pay.

He stifled a menacing giggle at the sea of panicked faces that stared back at him through the glass, barking muffled orders to one another. By the time he was finished with them, their pathetic Captain would despair at the devastation left in his wake; hardly recognise what was _left _of them, and _oh god_ -

Wrenching himself back to reality with a gasp, the last of his conscious mind struggled to be heard over the mess of violent ranting that seemed hell-bent on overwhelming him. And in a sickening instant - a collaboration of prophecy and gut instinct - he realised what the virus was about to make him do.

Lister's head jerked up to see Rimmer frantically hammering on the glass with his fists. His entire being seemed to be shaking with the effort, eyes red-rimmed with desperation.

"Help!" he wailed in a voice strangled by the glass that separated them. "Lister, help me - !"

With the security guard somewhat distracted, Lister was free to race across to join him. His chest pounded, fuelled with the adrenaline that was torn between fight and flight.

"For smeg's sake stay calm, man," he asserted, although his own voice stumbled in fear. Lister gestured with a trembling thumb over his shoulder at the chaos behind him. "They're sortin' it all out for yer," he reassured, forcing his chirpy optimism to take the helm. "Technical hitch, that's all."

He shuddered at the blackness that had bled into Rimmer's now-flickering image. "Half a mo and you'll be back to normal. You'll see."

"Lister," he pleaded, "please, get me out - " In a single blink, his eyes dilated so full and dark, they looked horrifyingly reminiscent of a shark on the hunt. "_ - so that I can tear you limb from limb - _" he snarled, his voice almost unrecognisable.

Lister scrabbled back in shock at the sudden violent turn before hazel eyes blinked back once more. Eyes lost and shaken as they stared back, wide.

Gone was the pride. Gone was the starched self-awareness that prevented such public displays of weakness. Stripped of such protective formalities, the underneath was left exposed. Pure, raw fear seeping through.

"I'm scared - " Rimmer sobbed. "Lister, I'm really scared."

Lister swallowed hard as his fingers curled back to form white-knuckled fists. He remembered all too well how dangerously unstable Rimmer had become when he'd been infected by Landstrom's holovirus all those years ago. And he certainly wasn't prepared to be in the close vicinity when this virus unleashed its violent, murderous streak in the hapless hologram before him.

Unable to tear away his gaze from the darkness that began to flicker uncontrollably in Rimmer's eyes, Lister backed away slowly, fumbling blindly for Nirvanah's arm.

"We have to go," he mumbled, feeling a sickening churn in his stomach.

Still pummelling urgently at the keyboard before her, Nirvanah shrugged off his grasp. With the crew snared by panicked awe, she'd begun desperately trying to override the seemingly irreversible process.

"No!" she cried. "Not without him!"

"_Trust _me," Lister insisted, grasping her by the shoulders and hauling her back bodily from the console. "This won't end well."

"But, sir - "

"Now, Kryten! Now!"

They ran, weaving through the smattering of hologrammatic statues that stared, motionless. All sense of panic and desperation in the room had dissipated. Now they were all transfixed by Rimmer's strangled cries as the virus ravaged his system, ensnared by an infectious sense of morbid fascination. Staring death in the face like a long-lost acquaintance.

Clinging desperately to consciousness and clawing for air he didn't need, Rimmer watched through the strange distortions of the glass as the trio scrabbled for their escape.

"Please don't leave - " he begged.

His chest whimpered a sad and fearful sense of detachment as they fumbled out of the door; an ache of negativity that proved to be the final weight the virus needed to tip the balance and end the struggle. And in the twitching blink of an eye, his mind seemed to give one last sharp spasm. The blackness crept into the edges of his vision sending everything bitterly cold and hazy.

The holograms watched as Rimmer sunk to his knees, shuddering uncontrollably as a lost hand streaked a downward path against the glass. In stark contrast to the panicked flailing and cries for help, he now fell still and motionless, the echoes of his desperate sobs now dying away into eerie silence. No-one dared speak, the air between them only sounding the eternal loop of crackling static from the monitors above.

Steeling himself, McCloud gingerly picked up the mic to the chamber's tannoy. "Mr Rimmer? Can you hear me?" he ventured.

Rimmer didn't seem to hear the question. He hadn't even flinched. McCloud exchanged a quick glance with the technician to his right who gave nothing but a loose shrug.

He'd almost raised the mic to his lips to repeat the question when Rimmer finally spoke. Gone were the once nasal notes of his old self. His voice was now corrupted with an edge of distorted feedback. Just like a simulant's.

"_I hear you wanted a murderer_," Rimmer stated darkly.

He slowly stood. Glancing up under wisps of hair to reveal eyes now black and dead, a smile crept along his pale face.

His attention shifted to the hand that still rested against the chamber that separated them. With barely a flicker of concentration, tiny splinters needled a network across the glass until they formed ugly great cracks.

And with a dismissive wave, it exploded. Shards of glass were cast out in a deadly blast that swept up the holograms as if they were mere leaves in the wind, hurling them back against the far wall.

As the shattered glass tumbling to the floor, silence descended once more. He stepped out of the destroyed chamber, boots crunching across the littered ground. With barely-contained glee, Rimmer surveyed the devastation around him. A lion regarding his cowering prey.

"_I'll give you a murderer._"

McCloud licked away dry lips. Seconds before he died - _again_ - he resigned himself to the fact that at least his week couldn't get any worse.

* * *

_I am the one who chose my path._

_I am the one who couldn't last._

_I feel the life torn from me._

_I feel the anger changing me…_

**- Korn, _Did My Time_**


	12. The Forgotten

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* * *

Pizzak 'Rapp turned up the volume dial on the console and sank luxuriously deeper into the leather of his captain's chair. Ace's now-hijacked audio feed was proffering some wondrous delights to savour as he happily conducted the terrorised screams from the _Occassus _like the most elegant notes of classical music.

"Ahh," he sighed wistfully, inclining his head to a lazy angle so that he could snare M'Aiden's attention. "The old ones are the best, don't you think?"

M'Aiden nodded sagely. "A composer of great promise, my friend." Bionic fingers tapped idly across his keyboard in time to the leisurely rhythm. "Shall I beam him aboard now?"

Eyes closed to savour this murderous melody, Pizzak waved a dismissive hand. "Let him have his fun for a while," he snorted, amused. "After all, the poor bugger hasn't enjoyed the pleasures of a good old-fashioned mass murder for so long." He linked his fingers behind his head as the shrieks reached a crescendo of Proms-worthy proportions. "At least this time it's directed at the right side."

A red blob pulsed into life on the long-range scanner scope. Clocking its presence, M'Aiden's eyes narrowed in assessment.

"Oh my," he muttered, intrigued. "It seems that Ace Rimmers are like buses. If one comes along - "

Pizzak peeled open a wary eyelid. " - then another shall follow?"

"Not so much follow," M'Aiden mused distantly as he studied the data his quick fingers conjured forth. Suddenly his lips stretched wide into a shark's smile; a grin of razor-sharp teeth and less-than-hidden agendas. "But rather parked and abandoned on the double yellow lines."

Sitting up sharply, Pizzak's eyes flitted across the screen before focusing intently on the immobile, flashing blob. Inspired merriment lit up his features.

"Oh, how careless," he chuckled darkly. Glancing up to M'Aiden, he rubbed his hands with glee. "I rather fancy a quick shopping spree whilst we wait for our newest crewmember to join us." The simulant arched an inviting eyebrow. "Don't you?"

* * *

The gun's sightless stare inched out from behind the doorway, a pair of hazel eyes soon sliding out to join it. Spotting nothing, the hologram stalked cautiously down the new stretch of corridor, trying to keep his booted footsteps as light as possible.

Gun still trained in readiness, Rimmer snatched a glance down at the psi-scan fastened to his wrist. He could see a collective of life forms gathered in the stock room ahead on his right - a menagerie of hologrammatic, mechanical and human. Most likely the ragtail bunch he was after.

But the thing that was unnerving him - making his trigger finger itch like a weightlifter's jockstrap - was the rogue reading that seemed to flit in and out of focus on the tiny screen. Flashing at different compass points in the corridors surrounding him - like some surreal, intimidating game of Pac-Man.

Stealing a final glance over his shoulder as he reached the door to the stock room, Rimmer re-holstered his gun and began to tap at the keypad. Unlike simulant vessels, security codes aboard Space Corps ships were fairly straightforward to crack. Invariably the six digit code matched the Captain's birthday; and thanks to Rimmer's newly-acquired hacking skills, the personal records on the _Occassus _had been easier to get into than a Titan hookers' crotchless panties.

His finger paused, hovering over the final button. The beeping of his psi-scan was suddenly growing ever more rapid and urgent, and he lifted his wrist in inspection. The rogue reading had stalked him at an impossibly rapid speed, and was now approaching him from -

Uh-oh.

Rimmer's head whipped back over his shoulder. A lone figure emerged from the shadows, regarding him silently.

Two years of training took only seconds to drain from his memory and melt to a puddle around his boots. He'd confronted hordes of simulants, hostile GELFs, and armour-plated killing machines on a daily basis in this latest career choice, with barely a second thought. Yet panic rooted Rimmer to the spot as he stared at his own dark reflection; an image clearly corrupted by an aggressive and destructive holovirus.

But it wasn't his predecessor's haunting image that frightened him most. It was the fact that he'd seen this reflection before. In the temple's mirror back on Blerios 5.

The dark face scowled, brandishing a hand towards him. Telekinetic energy danced across his long, lean fingers.

"Bugger - "

* * *

Smegging hell, he was so bloody unfit.

Lister was still sucking in great lungfuls of air a full five minutes after the door to the stock room had slid shut behind them.

He made a silent vow that when things got back to normal (well, as normal as you could get when you were the last man alive and stuck in deep space, three million years in the future) he was most definitely going to exercise twice a day and limit himself to one curry a week.

Well, maybe exercise twice a week and limit himself to one curry a day.

He sighed. It was times like these - when they were being chased by a murderous simulant/GELF/virus-ridden hologram (delete where appropriate) - that Lister really longed for the monotony of the empty days. The long, lazy afternoons spent on his bunk watching a _Mugs Murphy _cartoon, chomping on poppadoms and flicking the broken shards into the curls of Rimmer's hair.

Rimmer. He mopped his face with sweaty palms and groaned. The smegger had always been a coward ever since the day they'd met. From only daring to flash the two-fingered salute at Todhunter's back, to cowering under _Starbug's _scanner table with a colander on his head, Arnold J. Rimmer had always had a longer yellow streak than Oz's yellow brick road.

But something in Rimmer's frank and unvarnished admission had really rattled him. He'd looked Lister straight in the eye, completely unabashed, and confessed that he was scared. A tickling shiver danced across his arms until the hairs stood to applaud it. Something in that confession felt raw enough to frighten him too.

Lister glanced up. Head bowed and arms folded protectively around her, Nirvanah's shoulders seemed to heave with a little more than the exertion of their hurried escape.

"Hey," he prodded verbally. "You okay?"

Pressing the side of her palm underneath her lashes, Nirvanah shook her head. "I'm fine," she said simply.

Lister chewed his lip, sadly. He wanted to give her a reassuring hug, or a comforting pat on the shoulder of her overly-starched uniform, but something held him back. It were almost as if he could recognise the social awkwardness and stunted mistrust of others in this woman before him. A warm chuckle threatened to escape.

"I can see why he loves yer."

Startled blue eyes met his before quickly giving him the once over. "I certainly hope, Mr Lister, that you're not the type to gossip about such matters." Her polished defences were solid enough, but he could see the grateful warmth radiating within.

The Scouser snorted, amused. He could definitely see Rimmer in her.

Lister blinked. Ew. That was _not _the metaphor he had in mind. He scrubbed away the mental image with industrial-strength bleach.

"We'll get him back," Lister nodded, an eternally-optimistic grin tugging at his gerbil cheeks. "We will."

A small sapling of a smile grew from the corner of her mouth, and Lister nurtured it quickly. "Things always have a funny way of workin' out in the end," he assured. "All we need to do is get back to _Wildfire_, get Ace and Rose to figure out a plan, and we'll get things back to normal. You'll see."

An almighty _clang _sounded against the metal of the door. The trio whipped back to face it.

"Or not."

_Clang_.

Needing no further encouragement, the group scrabbled back to the relative safety that the boxes could offer. Crouching behind the only defence they had, they winced visibly as another _clang _sounded at the door.

"I think it's Mr Rimmer, sir," Kryten offered.

Lister remained grim-faced. "Either that, or the Jehovah's Witnesses are getting really smeggin' pushy nowadays."

He steadied his breath as much as his heaving chest would allow. Of all the ways he'd pictured meeting his maker, being frazzled by a virus-corrupted resurrection of his dead bunk-mate certainly hadn't made the top rankings. Death by sex as a hostage on the Planet of the Nymphomaniacs would have been preferable. In fact, he'd rather hoped that Cassandra's 'bra premonition' would literally be his undoing.

It was then that Lister realised that the room had fallen eerily silent. The ominous pounding at the door had stopped, as if to allow the dust of the quiet to settle for just a moment. He strained to listen beyond the door's thickness, struggling to work out if the ravaged hologram had indeed given up the chase or was merely toying with them.

Both options were blasted from Lister's mind. More or less at the same time that the door made a similar implosion, closely followed by a catapulted figure squealing like a banshee. Indeed, the man flew at a rather impressive speed as he was thrown across the room by some unseen force, landing in a mangled heap on the floor amongst the torn remnants of the door's metal.

Lister's initial shock quickly subsided into a disappointed sigh when he realised who it was. "Are you ever capable of an entrance that's _subtle_?" he chided, slowly emerging from his hiding spot.

Wig skew-whiff, the bedraggled form of Ace shakily drew himself to his feet. He regarded Lister rather unsteadily, trying to mask his shock with a trademark patronising glare.

"Are you ever capable of an observation that's _helpful_?" he sniped back.

Lister's face darkened as the hologram dusted down the broadness of his shoulders that the famous jacket offered him. The all-too-familiar heat of jealousy flared in his chest.

"I _thought _you were supposed to be looking after Krissie," he jabbed, his usually warm tone sharpened by the bubbling anger underneath. Like a slice of lemon spiking a cup of tea. "What happened? Got bored?"

Rimmer blinked in confusion before his face tightened into a scowl instead. "Actually, it was Kris who suggested I come here to help _you_," he bit back, gesturing to the doorway with a wobbly nod. "But then I bumped into an old friend of yours. One who seemed rather intent on fashioning me as a new door-knocker." A derisive eyebrow tugged under the bangs of his wig. "I take it that your rescue mission was a bit of a balls-up?"

Kryten tapped his master tentatively on the shoulder. "Mr Lister, sir - ?" the mechanoid mumbled awkwardly.

Ignoring the interjection, Lister snorted away the dig. "Why? Already familiar with what a mission balls-ups looks like, are you?"

Rimmer's nose flared in characteristically cavernous annoyance. "Oh smeg off, you annoying, smegging - "

"Sirs - !"

The pair's bickering fell silent as the lights above them began to flicker and stutter in fear at the shadow now etched in the doorway. The very room seemed to quiver at his presence, the resonance of his telekinetic energy echoing across the walls.

Nirvanah shrank back behind the crate at the tarantula pace of the man's approach, frightened and ashamed. This couldn't possibly be her Arnold. She could still feel the post-coital warmth of his chest as they lay entwined in one another's embrace, giggling unashamedly at a shared joke.

Now the awkward softness of his once-hazel eyes had completely hardened into soulless black, shadow smudging them against pale cheeks. She searched desperately for a flicker of recognition behind his cold stare. But any that remained was borne out of pure hatred for the mere echoes of lost memories stood before him.

"Oh my god," Rimmer gasped, his voice barely escaping as a controlled whisper. His eyes narrowed as they studied the murderous expression of his dark self. "Are my nostrils really that _big_?"

The cavernous flare of his nasal cavity seemed to pale into insignificance as an invisible hand wrenched him off his feet until he hovered, suspended, in mid-air. Gritting his teeth, his entire image flickered uncontrollably under the painful buzzing pressure of the telekinetic grip.

Nirvanah scrabbled to her feet, panicked. "Arnie, don't!" she pleaded, straining against Kryten's swift and protective grasp. "Let him go! Please!"

Ignoring - or perhaps not registering - her pleas, Rimmer's dark self scowled critically at his successor.

"_You truly believe that a pathetic specimen such as yourself is worthy of carrying the flame?_" he demanded, voice corrupted by more than just the virus. The force of the energy resonated outwards as his anger grew; waves that shook the stacks of boxes until they sang with buzzing fear. "_Worthy of even speaking the name that I made so great?_"

"Rimmer, he's not tryin' to replace yer," Lister soothed, a gloved hand thrust forth to try and calm the rising storm of anger that was brewing in the virus-ravaged hologram before him. "Please," he implored. "Let him go."

A snort of derision jetted down flared nostrils as his attention was turned to Lister. "_You really think that a mere human can try and reason with me?_" he sneered. His eyes hardened dangerously. "_Try and stop me?_"

Lister shook his head in disbelief. He'd met London traffic wardens more willing to listen to reason. "Rimmer, what are you talking about?" he cried. "_You're _human too!"

A look of utter revulsion clouded the shadowed face further. _"Humans are the vermin of this cosmos,_" came the almost pre-programmed reply."_A race to be exterminated. Wiped from the face of the universe."_

Lister felt a lurch of nausea at the pure hatred entrenched in the hologram's eyes. "That's the virus talking, not you," he mumbled, fighting to reassure himself with equal conviction. "Don't you see? The simulants have corrupted yer mind." He blinked his loss, unable to recognise anything in the being before him. "They've made you think like _them_."

Soulless eyes hardened with resolve as the gap closed between them. _"The simulants have made me greater than I've ever been,_" he declared, simulated breath cold on Lister's nose._ "Humans and holograms alike will tremble at our very name."_

Lister's focus flittered momentarily across to Rimmer's continued pained struggle before returning to the dark reflection once more. Jagged breaths threatened to catch in his throat as he fought to stay calm.

"Rimmer," he repeated carefully, his voice low and steady against the continued rumbles of the crates. He hoped that by repeating his name, he'd dredge forth some memory of his old self. "Please, man, you've gotta fight it. You've gotta remember who you are." He licked away dry lips. "Who _we _are."

Lister glanced back meaningfully to the others - a small yet determined collective in this hostile universe. They'd each played such a big role in the hologram's existence - bringing more _life _to the man after his death than he could have ever known during his 31 years alive.

And sure enough, something seemed to shift in his shadowy eyes. A spark of recognition.

"_Who you are?_" he echoed, disbelieving.

Staggering back on unsteady legs, the pale face screwed tight with restrained fury. With barely a twitch of concentration, the trio were similarly wrenched from their feet to hover in mid-air, all trembling and writhing under the unseen grasp. The energy grew frenzied as it whipped up the loose papers in its wake, the lights flickering faster and faster.

The pain was indescribable, threatening to overcome everything - including all rational thought. Lister had to claw it back down his throat just enough to cry out a plea to his lost crewmate.

"Rimmer, don't do this - !"

"_You all thought that I was weak and pathetic_," he ground out, voice almost pained with the rage. His attention turned directly to Lister, staring at him intently as he spoke. "_You mocked me relentlessly. Lied to me about who I really was. Hid from me my true potential._"

Lister couldn't even shake his head to disagree. Instead, he grimaced against the unbearable pressure that buzzed and wormed up and down his spine; a physical reminder - a physical _punishment - _for the overwhelming secret that he'd been harbouring from him for two long years.

"I thought I was doing the right thing - " he managed eventually. Trying to implore to him - trying to implore to _himself _- that it was the truth.

But the dark shadow before him was in no frame of mind to listen. Instead, his eyes remained focused on the deck as he spoke.

"_What does it matter now?_" he asked with a dismissive snort. "_Now I know who I really am. The greatness that I'm capable of._"

Lister watched in horror as those black eyes snapped back up to the chaos that surrounded him, the decision clear in their depths.

"_I'm not going to let any of you hold me back anymore_," he announced.

"No! Rimm- !"

The unrelenting buzz of energy reached a crescendo as it blasted across the room, casting out everything and everyone in its path. The group were thrown back by the sheer force, slamming against the four walls before slumping to the floor under a rain of splintered wood.

Silence fell. The room was still once more.

Blinking experimentally against his now pulsing vision, Lister glanced up with a groan. At first he thought that the lights were still flickering. Soon the realisation dawned that it was the shreds of torn paper that were fluttering innocently to the ground against the glare of the room.

The man they'd once known as Rimmer had gone. In body and in mind.

The latest in the Ace line was the first to break the gravity of the silence. Unfortunately his offering was characteristically unhelpful.

"Wonderful," he sighed, exasperated, as he pulled himself to his feet. "He's about as mentally stable as a man that's been kept on hold to technical support for six hours and forced to listen to an eternally looped tape of _Greensleeves_."

Kryten clanged a fist against his temple twice. The warning messages that flickered across his visuals imploring him to change his head unit refused to shift. "It appears as if Mr Rimmer has been teleported off this ship," he observed, straining to keep his psi-scan in focus.

Picking her way from out of the debris, Nirvanah released a shaken breath. "He didn't kill us," she managed, her tone etched with an edge of relieved disbelief.

Tucking his hands under his arms, Rimmer shook his head in wonder. "Brains _and _good looks," he muttered to himself. "I can see why he was so interested."

The redhead shot him a look that could chastise with a single glance. "In case you hadn't noticed," she growled between clenched teeth, "whilst he had no qualms with killing a room full of _Occassus _technicians back there, he let us go."

Releasing a satisfying _crack _from his back, Lister blinked his confusion. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that he's holding back," Nirvanah explained. "Didn't you hear the recognition behind his anger?" She held his gaze with earnest eyes. "I think part of him might still be in there."

_Perhaps the part of Mr Rimmer that becomes insanely angry when he finds a coffee-wet spoon in the sugar pot_, Kryten reasoned silently.

Lister nodded slowly as if warming to the prospect. "So what do we do?"

Nirvanah picked at the tiny wooden splinters woven into her now less-than-coiffured locks. She shrugged loosely.

The questioning glance flitted back to the latest incarnation. "Any ideas?"

Arms still folded, the only movement Rimmer offered was the questioning arch of an eyebrow. "Oh yes," he replied, mock-solemn. "Because I often find myself up against hologrammatic killing machines ravaged by simulant viruses."

"But you're Ace!" Lister protested weakly. "I thought this sort of stuff was a walk in the park for you?"

"Oh so _now _you think I'm capable of dealing with this smeg?" Rimmer scoffed, offended. "As you so gleefully pointed out yesterday, I'm still the office rookie when it comes to all things heroic. Supposedly, I've not been promoted beyond organising the stationary cupboard yet."

Drawing his hands down his face, Lister sighed into sweaty palms. "Let's head back to _Wildfire_," he suggested eventually. "We can explain to the others what's happened and together we can work out some sort of plan."

Rimmer nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you'd like me to consult my copy of _An Idiot's Guide to Saving Humanity _whilst we're at it, hmm?"

* * *

Looking back, he should have known something was wrong as soon as they beamed back aboard.

Despite his self-doubts and misgivings, his last two years as Ace had honed his observational skills far more than he'd realised. The corner of his eye had snatched enough of a glimpse for his subconscious to clock the tampered keypad by the airlock.

Rimmer strode on ahead. Un-strapping his gun belt and hooking it up by the munitions cupboard, he played up to his usual parody of a 1960's sitcom husband returning from a hard day's work at the office.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called out through a teasing grin. "Stick the kettle on, won't you, Rose?" Rimmer fiddled with the itchy spot of his wig that often plagued the back of his neck. "Things haven't quite gone to plan and I fear this is going to be a 'two pots of tea conundrum' - "

Rimmer stopped dead in the doorway of the mid-section, his cheeky smirk sliding down his face. The others almost bundled into the back of him before they too realised what he'd stopped to stare at.

The room was trashed beyond recognition. The table and chairs had been overturned, wall monitors smashed and hanging loose from their fixtures, and storage crates looted - their remaining unwanted trinkets littering the deck.

A slow, comprehending silence dawned upon each of them.

"Kris," Lister breathed. Snapping out of his trance-like state, he scrabbled urgently over the upturned chairs, racing towards the sleeping quarters. "Kris!"

Nirvanah picked her way across the room, surveying the mess around her. "Good grief," she muttered solemnly. She rubbed her folded arms, self-conscious. "I'm presuming this isn't how you left it."

Not picking up on the tension-breaking tone of the jibe, Kryten's feathers ruffled visibly. "Certainly not on my watch, ma'am," he huffed. "Why, according to my database this room was only scheduled to have a quick tickle around with a feather duster upon my return - "

Leaving Nirvanah to console the flustered mechanoid, Rimmer slowly tracked across the debris and into the cockpit. Apart from the backdrop of distressed static from the monitors, the ship was eerily quiet.

Lister appeared in the doorway, breathless. "Rimmer, man, she's gone." His voice crumbled under the weight of the sheer panic. "Kris is gone, they've all gone."

Stumbling over the snake pit of wires that swarmed the deck, the Scouser's turmeric-stained fingers latched onto the pilot chair for support. Dark eyes tried desperately to search his. "Who the smeggin' hell did all this?"

Rimmer didn't return his gaze. He was too focused on the Post-it note stuck above the tangled mess of wires that splayed loose from the console. Where the dimension jump drive once was.

_Surprise! __:-)_

_We've got something you want. You've got something we want._

_Come and play. It'll be like old times._

- _Pizzak_

Rimmer swallowed hard, fighting back an old yet familiar wave of panic that threatened to engulf him.

"Oh, smeg."


	13. The Unspoken Destiny

**Apologies it's been so long since my last update, guys. Who'd have thought becoming a mum would take up so much of your time...?**

**Really hope you enjoy this next installment! As always, reviews are loved and hugged when they reach my inbox. Thank you.**

* * *

Mechanoids weren't supposed to eavesdrop on human conversation.

It was a basic, fundamental rule that had been coded into his very being. Filed somewhere between his know-how of biscuit arrangements and his discerning knowledge of toilet cleaner brands.

So engrained was this imperative that Kryten felt sure he was drowning in a buzzing sea of error commands as he glanced up across the mid-section to watch Ms Crane open the cockpit doorway.

With a subtle cough, he upped the levels on his audio receptors. The garbled, distant mumblings started to form words.

"Is everything alright in here?"

As soon as the platitude escaped her lips, Nirvanah knew it was a mistake. The raised voices she'd heard just moments before had fallen dangerously silent in her presence.

She glanced back and forth between them. Rimmer's nostrils flared, snorting back the venom that seemed desperate for escape. Lister scowled at him openly, viciously swiping at the tears stinging his eyes. She'd clearly walked right into the eye of a storm – the argument soon to gather force once again.

"Oh yeah, it's fine!" Lister sniped, voice unsteady. His eyes refused to tear away, boring deep holes into the man before him. "It's tickety-smegging-boo, isn't it, Rimmer?"

Rimmer rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Look – "

"No, _you _look!" Tearing off the Post-It from the dashboard, Lister waved it briefly in Nirvanah's direction – apparently under the illusion that she was able to read the note in under two seconds – before thrusting it in Rimmer's face.

"'_Come and play' _?" he echoed, incredulous. "Is this what being Ace is all about for you? A smeggin' _game_?"

Rimmer fought to keep his composure as he regarded Lister evenly. The turmeric-stained fingers still clutching the Post-It were trembling visibly.

"Of course it isn't." He tried to keep his voice gentle, but allowed his irritation to surface as much as he dared. "But don't you see, Listy? The simulants are deliberately trying to bait us. Try and get us to act before we've had time to gather our thoughts and resources. Before we've thought of a plan – "

Lister's head spun dizzy. The man stood before him was the very image of the space hero he'd once admired all those years ago; their only hope of rescuing the others and defeating the simulants.

But all he could hear was his old bunkmate. The spineless weasel who would call him 'Listy' in grating, nasal tones and bore him to death with his _Risk _tactics. The lines between Arnold and Ace were far too blurry to stay focused.

"Ace is right," Nirvanah soothed. "We need time to – "

"Stop calling him that!" Lister snapped suddenly. "It sounds - "

Years of pent-up frustration and sorrow clambered for release through hurtful words. But the wounded look behind Rimmer's gaze reeled them back for now, and he hissed out the pent-up pressure instead.

" - smeg, I don't even know anymore."

The silence grew stale between them. The steady beeping from the console signaled yet more precious seconds wasted.

Lister shook his head, forlorn. "You said you'd look after her, man." His words were barely a whisper.

Mournful eyes met his, unwavering in their acceptance. "I know I did."

"Then why did you leave her?"

Nirvanah watched as Ace's – _Rimmer's _- face crumbled under some unseen or unspoken force.

"Lister, he could have killed you," he mumbled. "I was trying to help."

Frustration got the better of him. And this time, Lister didn't have the energy to rein back the venom.

"If you wanted to _help_, you should have done your smeggin' job in the first place and stayed here to protect Krissy and the others!" he bit back. "Not left them all to face the simulants by themselves! They didn't stand a smeggin' _chance_!"

Hazel eyes searched his as Rimmer's mouth hovered open before closing reluctantly. He offered a tight nod, solemn eyes downcast.

Lister scowled in the silence that followed. In the logic that only made sense in their strange, distorted relationship, the lack of retort or bite-back was more offensive than any insult. He deliberately caught Rimmer's shoulder as he shoved past him to leave.

Nirvanah remained perfectly still, avoiding any awkward eye contact as Lister stormed out of the cockpit. Only when the door had slid shut behind him did she risk glancing up at the man stood silently beside her.

The legends and stories gathered during the _Englightenment's _research must have been true. It was obvious from the pained look on his face – the words that he would never be permitted to say.

He _had _done his job. He'd had no choice.

Ace Rimmer was destined to protect Dave Lister. The last human.

**SIX WEEKS EARLIER. DIMENSION 614-CB. BLERIOS 5. **

_In the still and silent darkness, he waited._

_Patience was most certainly his virtue. His entire life seemed to be spent waiting for something. Whether it was the slow yet steady progress of his latest trainee, or the inevitable arrival of the next, his endurance was always a calm and collected vigil._

_Feline ears twitched, arching back to the distant sound behind him. He breathed in deeply through his nose before smiling into his exhale. "You're late," he called._

_"Fashionably." The word glided on the wind, sweeping loftily across the abandoned market square._

_Tonga smirked as he turned to face his old protégé. The last 18 months had definitely added a swagger to his step._

_"You're a difficult man to get hold of, you know." _

_Rimmer's hearty laugh was warm against the chill of the night air. He strode towards him, arms brandished as wide as his grin. "What can I say?" he chuckled. "I'm terribly busy and important nowadays."_

_Tonga slapped him proudly on the back as they hugged before snaring him in a head-lock. He rubbed his knuckles against the friction of that infamous wig. "And who's that thanks to?" he challenged._

_"Argh! Smeggin' - You! YOU!"_

_Freeing himself from Tonga's grasp, the smile slid from Rimmer's face as he clocked the strange look in the Blerion's eye._

_"What's wrong?" _

_There was a thoughtful pause. "I have something for you," Tonga explained evenly. Fishing into the depths of his robes, his ancient fingers unfurled to reveal the small stone in his hand._

_"Smegging hell," Rimmer spluttered. He glanced around to check that they were indeed alone. "Tonga - I don't understand - "_

_"You don't have to understand," he whispered. "You just have to accept it."_

_Rimmer frowned, confused. "But I thought we agreed it would be safer hidden here? In the temple?" he hissed. The hologram shook his head solemnly, the weight of the responsibility heavy on his shoulders. "The simulants have been tearing this universe apart looking for it." Watchful eyes flitted down the dark alleys. "They're following my every move."_

_"Indeed," Tonga nodded gently as he held it out to him. "And we also agreed that I'd return it to you when the time had come." _

_Rimmer whipped back to face him, the steely determination and the brash jokes now retreated in realisation. His eyes dropped to the stone nestled in Tonga's palm, regarding it carefully. As if he were staring his own fate in the face. _

_The ancient bell in the tower chimed in the distance, its call echoing across the abandoned square. _

_With visible reluctance, he took it._

_"What the mirror showed me back then," he mumbled. "That I'm going to – " Clutching the stone tighter, his breath shuddered before calming, resolute. "It's going to happen soon, isn't it?"_

_Tonga didn't reply. He dipped his head in reverence, the vast hood throwing his face into shadow._

_Despite his fear, a scoffed laugh jetted forth. "Oh well," Rimmer sighed, forcing a smile. "None of us can do this job forever, can they?" _

_The desert wind howled in mourning as the pair regarded the stars wordlessly. The stars stared silently back._

_"If it means saving him, then so be it."_


	14. Torn Apart

**Thanks once again to those who continue to follow this fic and patiently await updates. Organising Dimension Jump XVII has kept me stupidly busy these last few months, so now it's over I hope to concentrate on ficcing a bit more!**

**Psst - if you haven't read 'The Prophecy' or 'Blurry' then you might want to check those out. Back-references aplenty! Here's hoping this is a welcome return... ;-)**

* * *

"_If you wanted to _help_, you should have done your smeggin' job in the first place and stayed here to protect Krissy and the others! Not left them all to face the simulants by themselves!"_

Rimmer closed his eyes in a pained frown, Lister's haunting words hanging stale in the recycled air of the ship. He'd offered no reply; there were no words. He'd screwed up on so many levels it was almost laughable. His predecessor was under the control of the simulants, his old crewmates were missing, and he'd managed to lose one the most precious pieces of technology the multiverse had ever known.

It was official. He was the worst Ace to have ever donned the stupid wig.

Peeling it off angrily, Rimmer tossed the blonde tresses onto the dashboard. Irritable fingers teased the repressed curls back to life.

The 'Ace' part of his mind called for calm over the panicked ranting of his former self. _Think about this logically_, he told himself. _Kris, Cat and Rose were almost certainly being kept alive. After all, their safety is the simulants' key bargaining chip to get what they want._

Footsteps echoed behind him and Rimmer glanced back over his shoulder. A short, stocky frame appeared in the doorway, shaken.

"Rimmer. Look - "

The hologram waved a dismissive hand. "Don't," he sighed, apologetic. "It's me who should be - "

"No," Lister cut in quickly. A quivering finger snaked out towards the far corner of the cockpit window. "Look."

Rimmer craned his neck until a distant glow yawned through the edge of the window. An ugly tear - pulsing with white light - was slowly stretching across the endless darkness of space.

He bit his lip. Ah. That wasn't good.

Lister couldn't tear away his gaze. In all their years of witnessing the visual marvels of unchartered space, they'd never seen anything like _that _before.

"What the smeg is it?" he mumbled.

Rimmer swallowed audibly, his focus lost in the black depths of the void. "It's the dimension's way of telling me that I've screwed up."

* * *

Those violet eyes, once famed for their captivating abilities, were now snared by the pulsing tear that cracked the very fabric of space itself. In the hundreds of years she'd existed, she'd certainly not seen anything like it.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Juno scowled through the open doorway. Not that the simulants seemed to be paying much attention. Instead, the crew of the _Orion_ had congregated in the Drive Room, presumably congratulating one another on Pizzak's latest spoils.

Re-joining the simulants hadn't been her greatest career move to date. Not that she'd had much choice in the matter, her services having been somewhat forcibly conscripted. As a symbi-morph – widely considered in the universe to be a second-class species - Juno was regarded by the simulants as being of little importance. However, her abilities managed to prove useful on the odd occasion before she was shoved back into the shadows, forgotten. Much like a sandwich toaster in that respect.

Arms folded, she sashayed into the Drive Room. "Hello? You do know there's a massive tear – rip – _thing_ out there, don't you?" she mocked petulantly.

Pizzak acknowledged her with nothing but a low, exasperated growl.

Juno's eyes lit upon the Dimension Jump Drive that had been haphazardly hooked up to the _Orion's _flight systems. She repressed a shudder. Although she'd always been happy to see Ace Rimmer robbed of his credits to fund her next venture, the thought of this hijack left her cold.

"I'm guessing you _have _seen it, given that you're probably the ones that caused it." Juno cocked an invisible eyebrow. "Perhaps you shouldn't be playing with big boy toys that you can't handle."

"_Perhaps _you_ shouldn't insist on repeatedly testing my patience_."

By the time she'd whipped back to the voice, she'd been snared by a powerful telekinetic force that wrenched her frighteningly easily from the ground.

Juno's eyes widened as the figure snaring her slowly emerged from the darkness beside the doorway. No _way_. It couldn't possibly be him.

"Ace?" she managed.

She'd heard them whisper his feared name for several days now, but she never thought it would signal anything has horrible as this.

Juno only had one psychic link with this incarnation; a mental hook that had bonded them for many years. But even that basic level of connection allowed her to see the ranting mess that his mind had become.

Gone was the clueless, pathetic worm; the conniving weasel that had pleaded with her for his freedom back on that Trading Post only weeks before. The slumbering memories of his time as Ace had clearly been re-awoken and distorted beyond recognition. A life breathed into them that was black and cold.

Juno's eyes fluttered closed in mourning. The Ace she'd once known had been lost to the darkness.

"_I told you not to let them find you_," she hissed silently in his mind, sympathy flirting with the reprimand.

A wicked grin spread across his face as he tightened his grip. "_And I told _you_ that if Pizzak didn't kill you, I'd finish you off myself,_" he echoed back.

The symbi-morph blinked in surprise. It had been over two years now, but she could recall all-too-well his chilling promise after she'd lured him into that simulant trap back on the _SS Aquarius_.

He _remembered_ her.

Juno concentrated on the link as quickly as she could. Rifling through the mess of negativity and resisting the pained stabs that tried to force her back, she found what she was looking for. An image

that she branded into her own mind for future reference. An image that must mean _something_.

Pizzak didn't have to hear their psychic connection to understand their exchange. "_Don't _waste your energy," he snapped. "She's not your concern." His attention turned back to the DJ drive. "I've got far more pressing matters for you to attend to."

Ace's dark eyes narrowed in suspicion before releasing her reluctantly. Breaking off any eye contact as not to give anything away, Juno slunk back into the shadows of the corridor.

As the mumbles of their conversation returned, Juno trembled in the darkness.

What was she doing here? Lati hekmat, she didn't even know what the hell she was to the simulants anymore. Cohort? Employee? _Slave? _Whatever she was, she'd been significantly short-changed.

Features set firm, she sauntered purposefully towards the lift and hit 'level 52' for the brig. She'd see how cocky the simulants would be if their bargaining chips were to somehow go missing_._

* * *

Perhaps too entranced by the eerie glow that pulsed from the tear, neither Rimmer nor Lister heard her approach.

"What on earth is going on?"

The pair swiveled round in their pilot seats. Swathed in a green silk dressing gown, Nirvanah hovered in the cockpit doorway, tapping her nails in absent concern against the frame. Her usual coiffure had been freed from its pinned shackles and now hung in loose curls around her shoulders.

She shook her head, frowning. "Don't you see? We seem to be getting some kind of temporal distortions happening on board."

Tearing his gaze away from the clear traces of her curves, Lister leaned into Rimmer conspiratorially. "Temporal distortions?"

"Time smeg-ups."

"Ah."

Confused, Nirvanah shook her head. "Sorry, what?"

Lister straightened in his seat. "Er – nothin'," he dismissed, a less-than-subtle cough not far behind it.

Nirvanah bit her lip. "I know that the Temporal Theory team back on the _Enlightenment _had conducted research on this phenomenon," she explained.

Rimmer's eyes flitted in assessment across the tear. "And what were their findings - ?" His words trailed off as he turned back to face her. Or at least where she _had _been.

He blinked. "Nirvanah?"

Glancing across to Lister, he could see his own open-mouthed confusion mirrored in the man beside him. His finger gestured loosely towards the doorway. "Wasn't she just - ?"

Lister rubbed his eyes with the soft leather of his gloves. "Too much beer or too little sleep," he groaned into his sleeves. "One of the two."

"What on earth is going on?"

Both men span round in their seats to see Nirvanah standing in the cockpit doorway once more. Two pairs of eyes flitted to meet one another in mutual confirmation before returning to her.

"I was gonna ask you the same question," Lister mumbled.

Nirvanah shook her head, frowning. "Don't you see? We seem to be getting some kind of temporal distortions happening on board."

Rimmer nodded absently. "I do believe that's rather evident, yes."

"Sorry, what?"

The pair shared knowing looks before turning back to her once more. "You said the guys back on the _Enlightenment_ knew somethin' about this sorta stuff happenin'?" Lister prompted.

Lost in confused thought, Nirvanah bit her lip. "I remember that the Temporal Theory team back on the _Enlightenment _had conducted research on this phenomenon."

Rimmer sighed. "Dare we ask what the findings were?"

Missing the déjà vu completely, Nirvanah dredged up what she could remember. "That the distortions presented themselves as a side-effect of a disruption to a pre-set timeline?" She shrugged loosely. "I'm sorry. It's been a long time since I discussed the findings with one of the research team."

"Interesting." Rimmer nodded politely. "You often had crew meetings that debriefed research findings?"

Nirvanah frowned. "No. We were having sex at the time."

Only the slightest twitch of the eyebrows gave Rimmer away, despite the unabashed façade. "Interesting," he echoed once more. It was the only word that seemed fitting.

"So let me get this straight." Lister steered the conversation with the grating of gears. "We're getting these funny time skits because something that was _meant _to happen, didn't happen?"

Rimmer nodded in the affirmative.

Confusion furrowed Lister's brow. "But I don't get it. That Blerion prophecy – Rimmer getting his old memories back and all that. It all came true. What she said would happen did happen."

Realisation dawned on Rimmer's features. "No, no – wait," he mumbled, fishing for the exact words. "The prophecy didn't say he _would _return. You said the Blerion told you 'he must not be _allowed_ to return'. Right?"

Lister's eyes glazed over in recollection. "Right – "

Rimmer smacked his palm against his forehead in self-reprimand. "The prophecy you heard wasn't predicting what was _going _to happen. It was a warning. A message telling me what I needed to _stop_ from happening in order to keep the pre-set timeline in check." Growling in realisation, he dragged his hands down his face. "And I blew it."

The trio gazed back out of the viewscreen once more. More and more tears were beginning to crack open now. The punctuating stars strained like the shirt buttons on Pavarotti's post-bolognaise-belly; fighting to keep the fabric of space in position. The once still and serene darkness was now leaking eerie glowing pockets of chaos.

"What's happening?" Lister mumbled.

Rimmer shook his head, solemn. "Time and space are collapsing. Rips are tearing open between dimensions because ours is so unstable." He licked away dry lips. "And if I don't fix the timeline and set it on the right course, I have a niggling feeling that this dimension is going to self-destruct."

The trio fell silent once more.

Rimmer heaved an irritable sigh. "I smegging hate it when that happens."


	15. Echoes

**Crumbs. Two chapters in four days? I'm on a roll! ^_^**

* * *

The tears continued to stretch and strain their way through the sky, slowly claiming the eternal darkness of space.

"Woah - hang on," Lister's lagging brain finally latched on to Rimmer's words. "What do you mean, you hate it when that happens?!" Brown eyes flared chestnut at the glaring light that continued to pulse through the cockpit window. "You've seen these before?"

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Well not _this _bad, obviously." He folded his arms in characteristic petulance. "I may not be perfect at this job, but I have it on good authority that I've never actually managed to destroy an entire dimension."

"Okay, okay," Lister pacified. Rimmer's debatable competence in his latest career venture was clearly a sore nerve.

"So what you're implying," Nirvanah ventured, "is that your main responsibility as Ace is to remove any threats or disruptions to pre-set timelines?" She cleared her throat purposefully, dropping her voice low. "As well as, you know – " Safely stood behind his back, Nirvanah nodded subtly in Lister's direction.

The last human snorted. "What, all the sex, you mean!"

Ignoring the joke, Rimmer's eyes searched hers. "More or less," he replied carefully. He glanced out at the devastation before them. "But I've never seen a reaction like this before. The universe must think this is too dangerous a deviation to sustain."

Lister scoffed. "Are you seriously tellin' me that the universe is capable of _thought?_"

"Don't knock it until you've tried it."

"Perhaps," Nirvanah cut in with the grating of gears, "we should be thinking of a plan? Like, how we're going to rescue your shipmates _and _get the Dimension Jump Drive back without the simulants noticing?"

"Well first of all, 'we' aren't going to be doing anything," Rimmer said firmly. "The pair of you will stay on board here with Kryten and I'll go." He stood, a cheeky grin plucking at the corner of his mouth. "And secondly, it's rather more fun if the simulants _do _take notice."

Lister stood in deliberate defiance. "If you think I'm gonna sit here and play the damsel in distress, then you've got another think comin'." He nodded to Rimmer. "I'm coming with yer."

Rimmer sighed. "Lister, I'm not turning this into an argument - "

"Well that makes things easier then, doesn't it?" He stared the hologram straight in the eye. "I'm coming with you – like it or lump it."

Rimmer swallowed back a dry throat. He'd already known what Lister's answer would be. After all, the mirror had shown him that his presence would be his downfall.

_If it means saving him, then - ?_

"So be it."

Lister offered a small smile of gratitude. "I'll see what supplies I can rustle up then, eh?"

Nirvanah glanced over her shoulder as he left the cockpit. Only when his footsteps had faded did her eyes flutter up to answer the question she already knew to be clear in his eyes.

"How do you know?"

Nirvanah shrugged in mock-innocence. "I couldn't possibly understand what you mean - ?"

"How?" he pressed.

There was an irritable sigh of surrender. "You really should look yourself up, you know," she berated. "It's a common theme in the myths and stories surrounding Ace Rimmer." Nirvanah regarded him from under a raised eyebrow, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Guardian of the last human."

Rimmer glanced anxiously through the doorway. "He's not supposed to find out – "

Nirvanah gently caught his cheek, pulling him back to regard her once more. " – and he _won't_," she soothed. "Not from me, anyway."

In the strange silence that descended between them, Nirvanah's gaze tangled in the painfully familiar curl of Rimmer's hair. Her chest gave a low moan of mourning.

"What?"

"Nothing." She freed herself reluctantly. "Just – hmm."

Rimmer's usual self-consciousness about his natural locks gave way to sympathy. He nodded in wordless comprehension.

He kept perfectly still as her lips brushed against his. It wasn't a deliberate act; merely a natural magnetism from being far too close - in both proximity and image.

As she pulled away, Nirvanah's eyes traced the cockpit behind him. She gestured to the dashboard with a nod. "You forgot something."

Rimmer glanced back, his eyes immediately lighting upon the wig. With a flush in his cheeks, he scooped it up and returned it to his rightful place once more.

Checking that it was convincingly in place, Nirvanah flicked absently at one of the golden bangs.

"If you don't bring him back to me," she threatened evenly, "I'll have you court martialled."

Any remaining tension crumbled under the gentle weight of Rimmer's chuckle. He returned her gaze appreciatively. "I can see why he loves you so much."

Meanwhile in the midsection, Lister was busy fending off the fussing mechanoid.

"Kryten, when I said 'supplies', I meant I was looking for the munitions cupboard," he sighed. "I'm sure we're not gonna need any sandwiches."

"Well at least concede to taking along a nice flask of tea, sir," Kryten clucked, cubed finger raised in reproof. "Those nasty simulant ships can be rather nippy. I don't want you catching a cold."

Lister sighed in relent. "Fine, I'll take the tea," he bargained. Anything to keep the smegging peace.

Kryten's adopted a clear display of 'Mothering Mode'. "I'll get on it right away, Mr Lister," he chirped, before disappearing through the doorway to the galley.

"Lister!"

At the urgent call of his name, Lister whipped back to the staircase. The hairs on the back of his neck immediately stood on end.

Rimmer – at least it _appeared _to be him – was perched awkwardly on the stairs, the image of his legs half-sunk into the metal treads. Hand thrust out towards him, he gestured quickly for him to follow.

"Do you trust me?" the voice echoed.

Lister remained silent as Rimmer vanished, simply blinking twice at the déjà vu. These temporal whatsits were far too reminiscent of the future echoes they'd seen in their youth.

"Lister?"

Once again, his Rasta plaits leapt as he spun back to the sound of his name. This time, Rimmer was stood in the cockpit doorway bedecked in his wig once again. Nirvanah hovered beside him.

"You ready?" he asked quietly.

Lister's eyes flitted critically over the guns stashed in his hip belt. Rimmer certainly _looked _the part. But as he knew all too well, appearances could be deceiving.

He answered both their questions as honestly as he could.

"I think so."


	16. Trapped

**Many thanks to those of you who continue to follow this fic! Virtual cookies to you all!**

* * *

"For the third and final time, Cat. Simulants don't install plug sockets in brig cells."

The Cat scowled, flashing angry white fangs. "I don't believe this!" he yowled, brandishing his trusty travel-size straightening irons. They'd often proven useful for touching up his tresses whilst exploring abandoned derelicts. "How's a cat supposed to keep _this _good-looking during a hostage situation?"

A growl – clearly borne from being stuck together in close quarters for far too long – rumbled dangerously in Rose's throat. "You're not _supposed _to look good during these situations, Cat. You're _supposed _to be concentrating on working out how the smegging hell we're going to get out of here."

The Cat sulked petulantly. "So how come Grand Canyon Nostrils can keep his new hair in place when dealing with these simulant dudes?"

"It's a - !"

Rose stopped herself. It really wasn't worth the argument.

" – struggle," she conceded eventually. "He uses a bloody good hairspray."

Kochanski glanced up from underneath the straggles of her own hair. She was using every ounce of willpower not to be sick as the ship juddered violently once again.

"Who's driving this thing?" she moaned weakly. "It feels like they're trying to steer a shopping trolley with one wheel missing and another rusted to hell."

Rose's face darkened as she crossed over to the tiny porthole. "Bloody simulants!" she cried, aghast. "They're jumping _again_."

Kochanski blinked her surprise. "Wait – you mean we've been _dimension jumping _all this time?!"

The computer snorted. "If you could call it that. They've got the technology but they clearly don't have the first smegging clue how to use it."

She glanced back to Kochanski, sweeping back her fiery bangs with shaking hands. "It's like lending your Jag to an 8-year old kid on a sugar high. He doesn't know how to use it and sure as hell he's not going to be careful with it."

In the silence that followed, Kochanski gnawed her worry into the tip of her thumb. The glow from the porthole dawned across her face. "The tears are getting bigger," she mumbled.

Rose's hands dropped back to her side with a sigh. Her locks sprung back to shield her face. "I know."

Ancient emerald eyes turned back to regard the broken darkness. Every electron of her CPU buzzed white hot with the concealed panic. It was coded into her very being that this was very, _very _wrong.

"They're tearing the universe apart looking for it," she muttered under her breath, voice crumbling at the edges. "Skipping along fault lines between realities rather than calculating safely distanced jumps." She sank back against the wall, arms crossed. "It's the inter-dimensional equivalent of skating across a frozen pond. One wrong move and the whole thing will break."

"But why?" Kochanski rubbed her arms briskly against the chill of the ship. "Tearing the universe apart for _what?_"

Rose dredged up a sunken smile and shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she reassured. "It's already in safe hands."

She recalled their swift jaunt to Blerios 5 only a few weeks before. Ace had been uncharacteristically quiet upon his return, unnerving her more than any bad news could. Yet despite her best mother-hen-clucking attempts to eke it out of him, he'd dismissed each one with lofty abandon. There was clearly something he wasn't telling her.

"It's why they want Ace so badly," Rose sighed. "The simulants were under the illusion that by taking control of his predecessor, they'd have everything they needed. Access to all of the universe's secrets, how to control the DJ drive." She coughed deliberately, dropping her voice. "Where certain powerful gemstones are hidden. Right?"

At Kochanski's expectant gaze, she shook her head. "It's a basic question of security. One that's _especially _important if a predecessor retires rather than dies. The full access codes to the DJ drive change with every incarnation of Ace."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning – the simulants currently only have a limited version of the DJ drive. They can only skip to nearby dimensions that have been visited during the service of the previous incarnation. They have little control over where they want to go. Even with the – " she shuddered, a cold chill creeping up her back, " - conscripted assistance of a predecessor."

Kochanski bit her lip in sympathy. "So how come they haven't tried to get the access codes out of you?" she asked gently.

Rose shrugged. "It's the first time that I've had a physical form in almost three million years. They clearly don't realize that I'm the brains of the operation, so to speak." She flicked an unamused eyebrow, hands on hips as she nodded down to her chest. "They probably just see the boobs and assume the usual when it comes to Ace's reputation."

"Well, I've got to admit. You've picked yourself a decent pair there, sweetheart."

The trio spun back to the voice. Draped impassively in the barred doorway was a female silhouette. Kochanski's eyes squinted in inspection, enough to make out the fine cross-matrix that was etched across her skin. A symbi-morph.

The computer rolled her eyes. "Oh great," she said sullenly. "_You._"

Even in an amused snort, her voice remained silken. "Always a pleasure."

"_Y'aow!_" Ears pricked, the Cat slid across gracefully to join her. "_Now_, you're talking!" He eyed the symbi-morph's curves with drooling appreciation. "Are you here on a conjugal visit, by any chance?" he winked.

A laugh prickled on Rose's lips. "I wouldn't put it past her."

The shadowy face pouted mockingly. "Perhaps a tad jealous as to who exactly I got conjugal with, darling?"

Kochanski's gaze flitted back and forth like a spectator at Wimbledon. "I'm guessing that you two know one another?"

Rose's eyes narrowed. "You could say that." With a shake of the head, she plastered her face with a smile hijacked from an air hostess. "Where are my manners? Cat, Kristine Kochanski – allow me to introduce you to a nasty piece of work."

"_Juno_," she corrected. She addressed Kochanski but crafted a sideways attack with carefully chosen words. "Look me up under Ace's little black book of booty calls, honey. I'm sure you'll find me."

"Probably under the section: _What Was I Thinking?_"

Juno's face clouded as she glared at the computer. "And here's me thinking that you'd want help in upgrading your accommodation." Violet eyes swept in disgust across the dingy cell. "But I can see that you're clearly rather set on it." She drew back to leave. "So if you'll excuse me - ?"

"Wait!" Kochanski scrabbled across to join the Cat at the bars. "You mean you'll help us get out of here?"

A spider-like smile crept across Juno's face. "Who could resist a pretty face like that?"

Blinking at the strange lure of those violet eyes, Kochanski sighed with relieved gratitude. "Thank you," she breathed.

"One condition," she asserted silkily, tapping a playful finger against Kochanski's nose. "If you get to escape," she chewed over the prospect, fear dancing in her gaze, "you take me with you."

"What's wrong?" Rose scoffed. "Is this latest job of yours offering no promotion prospects?"

"Rose!" Kochanski hissed over her shoulder. "She's trying to help us!"

Juno glared at the computer icily, clearly affronted. "You really think, I - ?" The symbi-morph stopped herself, reining back some choice words before dropping her voice low. "You know what? I really don't care what you think."

Her eyes softened as they returned to Kochanski. "I just want out."

Kochanski nodded gently, sliding her hand between the bars. Juno took it gratefully before setting to work on the keypad lock.

"Hey, baby!" The Cat purred winningly. "One more favour?"

Juno glanced up. A perfectly manicured hand thrust a pair of straightening irons through the bars.

"Any idea where I can plug in these?"


	17. The Rescue

**Let's begin to get the action warmed up, shall we? **

* * *

It didn't take Lister long to work why the _SS Orion _made him feel so unsettled. It was the disconcerting familiarity of the dank, grey metal. The circular, gantry corridors stacked in endless repetition. The haunting voices that echoed from the dark, howling expanse below.

It reminded him of The Tank.

Busy unscrewing the panel that encased the door mechanism, Rimmer almost dropped the screwdriver when he clocked where Lister was standing.

"For smeg's sake, we're not conducting a property viewing!" he hissed. "Will you stay back in the shadow, please?"

Lister stuck out a playful tongue at the back of Rimmer's head but nevertheless obeyed. He swept a critical gaze across the expanse. "Questionable central heating, dodgy neighbourhood. Not my idea of a cozy retreat."

With the screwdriver now clasped between his teeth to wrench off the loose panel, Rimmer spoke in lost consonants. "Says the man who once lived in a luggage locker."

"Touché."

He watched closely as Rimmer hooked up his tablet device to the now-exposed mechanisms, booted up the tiny computer and started furiously tapping at the keyboard. Lister folded his arms, suitably impressed. "You can crack security codes?"

"All part of the job description," the hologram replied, distracted.

Lister grinned. "And here's me thinkin' the job description for Ace Rimmer ran along the lines of '_Save the day - Rescue the damsel - Shag her stupid'_."

Glancing over his shoulder, Rimmer allowed himself a chuckle. "That's the summary on page one, yes," he conceded. "But there's a hell of a lot more to it than the guns-blazing, 'tally ho' approach, you know."

"Like?"

Rimmer cocked a meaningful eyebrow. "Like asking my latest, gorgeously feisty companion to actually do something useful and keep watch."

Pursing his lips in a mocking kiss, Lister stalked further along the corridor to stand in the shadows. There was little else to do but watch and wait.

Twenty minutes passed by wordlessly, the silence only punctuated by the dance of Rimmer's fingers across the keypad. Lister had gnawed himself a new stubbly path across his thumbnail.

Eventually Rimmer pulled back from the keypad with an audible growl. "It's no good," he sighed. "The codes are changing too quickly for me to keep up. Without Rose's help, it could take me hours to crack the code of each door alone."

It had become an increasingly typical security approach on simulant ships. Different sections of the ship would utilise the same security code for precisely two minutes before the central system generated another to replace it.

Lister dragged his fingers through the tight dark curls of his hair. "We don't _have _hours, man," he implored. "We need to get down to them now!"

Drumming agitated fingers against the doorframe, Rimmer bit his lip. "How many floors did you say there were between here and the brig?"

Lister examined the readout on the mapping device strapped to his wrist. It was one of several of the shinier looking gadgets that he'd pocketed from Rimmer's collection. Kryten's psi-scan looked like a Fisher Price toy in comparison.

"According to the gizmo 'ere, over 200 floors." He jabbed a finger downwards in indication.

"Of course," Rimmer rolled his eyes. Plucking forth a metallic black disc strapped to his belt, he began to fiddle sulkily with the large karabiner hook that protruded from one side. "It couldn't be the next bloody level down, could it? Far too simple."

Lister's eyes flitted curiously over the contraption in his hand. "What you got there?"

Rimmer ignored the question. "I've only done this a couple of times in my basic training, but I'm hoping it's like riding a bike," he muttered to himself. He gave the karabiner two sharp tugs to test the tension of the cord that had been wound into the metal disc.

Clocking Lister's look of confusion, Rimmer merely flashed him a resigned shrug as he slotted back the metal disc so that it clicked into his belt harness. Taking a few steps back towards the wall, he steadied himself with a breath.

"You owe me another drink after this, you know," he threatened playfully, gesturing at Lister with the hook. "That's _two _Clarets on the chalkboard, squire."

"What are you - ?"

Lister hardly had a chance to ask. Pushing himself off the wall, Rimmer sprinted towards the edge of the gantry, hauled himself onto the railings with a swift _click _of the hook and jumped.

"Rimmer - !"

Lister scrabbled across to the safety rail and peered over the edge. He could just make out Rimmer's distant form as he disappeared into the dark void, the jump cord rippling in his wake.

Lister pulled back, the vertigo too overwhelming. He blinked unsteadily.

"I'm _definitely _getting the first round in when this is done," he mumbled.

* * *

The bitter wind howled in Rimmer's ears as he fell, the floors whipping by far faster than he could count. He resisted the urge to screw his eyes closed and scream hysterically, deciding instead that it might be much more helpful if he slowed his descent as soon as possible. Especially if he had any hope of locating the floor where the others were being held captive.

Unhooking the belay from his belt, he spun backwards to face the jump cord, snapped it on and held tight in preparation.

Nothing happened. He continued to plummet.

Panicked, he pulled it off and snapped it back on again. Nada. The world still whistled past him at frightening speed.

Uh-oh.

* * *

"So which way now?" Kochanski hissed.

Rose's green eyes sparkled, flitting back and forth as her CPU got to work. "We're on level 58," she replied distantly. "In order to get a clear enough signal to use the comms link, we'll need to reach level 275 and above." She turned her attention back to Kochanski with a low sigh. "Seeing as taking the lift could potentially leave us trapped when the simulants work out we've escaped, it looks like we're in for quite a climb."

Juno rolled her eyes. "Oh _please_," she purred, her silken voice dripping with disdain. "You're giving the sims _far _too much credit, you know. They have the mental capacity of a squashed gnat."

She glanced up to the ancient security camera mounted on the wall; a system she knew all too well wasn't monitored. "With the Dimension Jump Drive under their belts, they're probably feeling far too full of themselves to even notice the movements of anyone else around them."

Rose scoffed. "I've been dealing with simulants for hundreds of years, thank you very much," she dismissed. "And I know what levels of misleading deviousness they're capable of." She looked the symbi-morph up and down, flicking a sarcastic eyebrow. "Rather reminiscent of a species not a million miles from here."

Unfazed by the dig, Juno simply folded her arms. "Forgive me. I thought you'd be the first to recognise a pompous creature when you saw it." She coughed theatrically, muttering under her breath. "Seeing as you have to babysit the largest ego in the cosmos."

The twitch of Rose's eye sparked a new level of hatred as her fingers retreated into less-than-surreptitious fists. "Come over here and say that," she threatened evenly.

Attention snatched from the female squabbling, the Cat's ears instinctively pricked up. A strange sound seemed to etch against the deep bass thump of the ship's engines. He held a hand aloft for silence.

"What's that noise?" he asked slowly.

The warring women fell quiet as Kochanski glanced anxiously over her shoulder. "Simulants?" she mouthed.

Exasperated, the Cat shook his head. Humans were so damn deaf. "Not _those _guys," he replied. His voice dropped once more, lost in concentration. "Something…_familiar_."

In a flash of realisation, he rushed over to the edge of the gantry and glanced up. Exchanging shrugs of mutual confusion, the others joined him at the safety rail.

"_Smeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeg!"_

The group stumbled back in shock as a man hurtled past them at break-neck speed, a rippling jump cord trailing behind him.

Kochanski blinked twice. "Was that - ?"

Rose groaned to herself as she leant forward on the safety rail. "You haven't released the toggle!" she hollered after the man's swiftly disappearing form.

After a few seconds, the slack cord suddenly jarred to a taut halt, creaking gently back and forth in the darkness. "I knew that," a distant voice muttered from the void.

A whirring sound of the retracting cord echoed up from the darkness. Rose stifled a giggle as an all-too-familiar figure rose up before them.

"About time you showed up," she chided warmly.

Rimmer flicked his hair for dramatic effect, forced to cast away the remaining stubborn bang from his eyes with a less than subtle blow from the corner of his mouth.

"Ladies and gents, this is level 58," he announced in his best 'Ace' voice. "Lift going up to all floors. Please board for bed linen, ladies shoes and getting the smeg out of here."


	18. Te Akonga Hokinga

**_This is a chapter I've been waiting a long time to write - 'Te Akonga Hokinga' or 'The Student's Return'. Having been shown their fate by the mirror years before ('124 Days' - Cazflibs) the teacher and the student finally come face to face once again. _**

* * *

**_DIMENSION 614-CB. BLERIOS 5._**

In the haunting darkness of the desert night, the temple stood still and silent.

The chanting and prayer had faded with the dying sun. The hordes of Maitiaki and worshippers had long since departed, their proffered sticks of incense now lying in eternal rest in powdered mounds.

Moonlight stretched across the sandstone walls and slipped underneath the archway of the shrine. Skipping past the decorative flowers and offerings, its glow rested upon the object of affection; a majestic, floor-length mirror whose golden frame sparkled in the flickering candlelight.

The _Karahe o Whakaata _– the Mirror of Reflection – was a gift from the Goddess Lati. Through its metaphysical reflection, her worshippers could seek guidance in times of great need. According to ancient religious texts, a chosen few would even see their greatest fear reflected in its ancient glass. The premise was simple yet effective. If Lati deemed them ready to face it, they might learn how best to overcome it.

Years before, the mirror had prophesized Rimmer's dark downfall. It had even revealed the fate of the latest incarnation in Ace's endless chain. A fate he'd revealed to no-one.

And now, knelt before it with eyes closed in silent prayer, Tonga held vigil. Yet unlike the countless nights that he'd simply sat to pray, he now sat in wait.

It was just as the mirror had foretold. He arrived with a breath as cold and whisperingly brief as death itself; and yet its force was strong enough to snuff out each of the candles that encircled the mirror.

Tonga's eyes peeled open, feline tail twitching with caution.

"So you have decided to return," the Blerion called softly, his voice delicate enough to be buoyed up by the evening desert air. Tonga's gaze flitted up to the mirror where, sure enough, the figure's reflection stood.

"I know why you are here," he told the reflection. "And you're wasting your time. You won't find it."

Tonga glanced through the tall arched windows of the temple. Against the natural glow of the moon, the night sky continued to split. A far darker void pulsed from within its depths.

"And you are content to destroy the universe in this futile search." He finally stood, turning to take in the darkness that had consumed his old protégé. "_Years_ of your good work undone in just days."

"_My best work is yet to come_." The nasal tones that Tonga had once known so well were now distorted with ugly electronic feedback. "_Once we locate the Jadestone, we shall have sufficient energy to power our dimension jump to the human colonies._"

Tonga's face retreated slowly, the sickened realisation in his eyes impossible to hide. His voice sank into a quiet, pleading sorrow. "Don't do this_ – _"

The corner of Ace's lip twitched as what sounded like a pre-programmed reply spurted forth. "_Humans are the vermin of this universe_," he spat."_They are to be exterminated. Wiped from the face of the cosmos_."

Beyond the temple's open doorway, the bitter desert wind howled its lament. Shaking his head, Tonga's eyes fell lacklustre as they regarded his old apprentice sadly.

"_Akonga o mua_," he mourned, the Blerion slipping unchecked from his lips. "What have they done to you?"

Clearly still able to understand the Blerion language, Ace snorted dismissively at his turn of phrase. "_I'm no longer your 'student', Tonga. I have a new master now_," he sneered. "_And he has shown me my true potential. Made me greater than I have ever been_."

"No," Tonga shook his head solemnly. "He has rendered you more powerless than you ever feared possible."

Ace scowled darkly. Riled, he struck Tonga across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor.

"_Where is it?" _he snarled.

The Blerion gasped, blinking experimentally against his throbbing cheek. Fuelled by anger and consumed by a holovirus, his inhuman strength could be limitless. His breath slowed into a stubborn silence.

The kick to his stomach was forceful enough to send him tumbling back in a tangle of robes. Booted footfall stalked towards him

"_Come on, old chum_," Ace laboured mockingly over his once-common idiom. "_Fight back._" He regarded his old master evenly as he wheezed and spluttered at his feet. "_After all, you're the one who taught me how, all those years ago."_

Glancing up, Tonga's features retreating into a primal snarl. "I will not engage in combat on holy ground," he growled. "And if you think that you can _beat _its whereabouts out of me, you are very much mistaken."

Ace didn't reply, instead sinking down on his haunches before him. In the quiet stillness of the desert night air, soulless eyes searched his. Feline eyes narrowed, wordlessly translating its meaning before growing wide. He couldn't breathe.

A smile crept across Ace's face. He slowly stood, drawing Tonga up with him in a grip that didn't need hands.

"_The Four Cities have fallen_," he said calmly. "_The Watengi Tribe – no more_." Those dark eyes flitted critically over Tonga's bedraggled form as he struggled against the invisible grip. "_So if you think a pathetically insignificant specimen such as yourself is capable of stopping me then _you _are very much mistaken._"

Tonga shook uncontrollably under the flames of a horrified, burning injustice. Despite the agonizing pressure, he clambered to speak.

"Then go on, kill me," he challenged. "If that is what your new master wants." Tonga's voice trembled, shaken by the hundreds of lives he'd almost certainly extinguished in the search for the Jadestone. Rendered powerless, he only had words to war with. "If that is what _you _want," he added pointedly.

Tonga watched as something retreated in his gaze. A flicker of the fear and uncertainty he'd seen long ago when they'd first met. He could hear the buzzing sing of the trinkets and offerings as they trembled under the resonating pressure. The restrained fury etched its way across his face as his eyes screwed closed.

Without warning, Ace cast him back with a dismissive wave of the hand. Flying backwards, Tonga smashed into the mirror, the glass shattering into a rain of shards that tumbled to the floor with him.

Chest visibly heaving, Ace's defensive scowl returned. _"__Taihoa__koe__ka kite__i te hē o tāu mahi__," he threatened evenly. _

_Tonga's eyes fluttered open as he felt the brush of a whispered breath once again. By the time he looked up, he was gone._

_The Blerion picked his way upright amongst the broken glass, sitting back on the torn tatters of his Maitiaki robes. A shuddering breath caught in his throat as the deathly chill of the desert wind chased away what remained of the day's heat. _The once-great Ace Rimmer had fallen so far into darkness.

Yet he clung to the universal belief - the common proverb that was muttered across every far-flung planet - that where there was still light, there was still hope.


End file.
